Never Give In
by Capt40
Summary: HP/BTVS X-over. A tragic accident sends Harry, Ron, and Hermione, now grown up and five years graduated, back to Hogwarts, where they meet a powerful witch on leave from her new post at the Watcher’s Council.
1. Circumstances

**Title:** Never Give In

**Author:** Capt40

**Email:** dgise@yahoo.com

**Summary:** HP/BTVS X-over. A tragic accident sends Harry, Ron, and Hermione, now grown up and five years graduated, back to Hogwarts, where they meet a powerful witch on leave from her new post at the Watcher's Council.

**Spoilers:** HP – It's a future fic, so I might use stuff from OotP once it's out; definitely through GF. BTVS – Through the end.

**Rating:** PG-13. Bad language and violence. No graphic sex ['cuz I don't like to write it]. If you watch BTVS, you're okay.

**Distribution:** Sure. Email me and I'll send whatever format you want.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, and no copyright infringement is intended.

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"Never give in--never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense."

                        Sir Winston Churchill, at Harrow, 29 October, 1941

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July 2004 Chudley Greens, home of the Chudley Cannons 

            For one heartbreaking second, Hermione thought he would do it one last time.

            Even before Harry sent Voldemort tumbling back into the darkness, he had always told them he was no hero. Afterwards, he had only grown more adamant. He believed it, too, which always amazed the people battling by his side more than the actual fact. They weren't fooled. Each one of them had proven nearly his equal in courage, power, determination, and skill over the years. His timing, though … she knew that would always set Harry apart. No one could match his ability to do the right thing at the right time. Voldemort had learned it, but far too late to save his life.

            Hermione already knew it, and it brought the briefest flash of hope forward in her mind as she saw Ron tumbling down.

            The bludger had come from the far side, smashed at him by Jacobs in a desperate attempt to jar Ron out of position and salvage the match for Wimbourne. He had never seen it; the ripping of muscle and cracking of bone came as a total shock. With a scream he lost his seat and careened towards their home pitch in a jumble of orange robes.

            When the bludger hit Ron, Harry took off like the cannonball on his robe. His Firebolt, aging as it was, still had unmatched speed; he knew he was the only one who might catch Ron before he hit the turf. As it always had, the broom responded to the call at the speed of thought. Air whistled in his ears as he tore through the sky, a bolt of orange against the light blue English afternoon.

He reached Ron fifty feet above the ground, where the youngest male Weasley crashed into him like a bag of wet sand. The surprising force knocked Harry off the Firebolt, and seconds later, the ground rushed up and met them both.

            Frozen in shock, Hermione watched as the medical staff rushed out to care for her two best friends. Her breath came in short heaving gasps as the urge to cry burned behind her eyes. She hung on the precipice for two full seconds before it all overwhelmed her and she too crumpled to the floor.

The Watcher's Council Building 

            Two pale hands reached out and shoved open the windows behind Giles' head. The cool morning breeze rushed in to greet them.

            "Oh, thank you, Willow," he said over his shoulder.

            Behind him, she smiled. "I don't know how you can work in here while it's all stuffy, Giles. I mean, your shirts, yeah, stuffed is good, but not your office."

            Her smile turned into laughter as he spun and offered his uniquely Giles glare.

            "Yes, well, I'm glad you approve of my attire, at least." She came around the desk and sat down, folding her hands in her lap to look attentive. "Now can we get to business? Have you heard from Xander?"

            "Uh huh. They got 'em."

            His eyes widened. "Surely not all of them?"

            "Down to the last scrap of dusty undead flesh."

            "That's fantastic. I assume he and Buffy were pleased?"

            "He was back with the pirate noises, and I heard her laughing in the background, so I'm gonna go with yes."

            "Dear lord, this is more than we could have hoped. I thought they might stymie some of the organizing, but if they took out the whole gang, why, the implications are staggering."

            "Uh huh. Vamp mafia, definitely a minus the good citizens of New York won't have to worry about."

            "That's wonderful. I'll have to call her myself. What about Faith and Robin? Any word from them?"

            "No, not since last week. Robin said they'd be in deep for a while, though, so I'm not panicking."

            "Hmmm."

            "I've been over the other deployments, too. Washington, New Orleans, Paris, and Moscow all seem fine. So does Tokyo, if the translation spell hasn't gone all wonky again."

            Giles carefully met her eyes. "What about Memphis?" Willow looked quickly away, her eyes filled with pain. Kennedy was in Memphis. "Did you…"

            "She talked to Dawn. All quiet on the Elvis front."

            "Willow, I'm sorry, I know it's hard for you. Maybe we should have Dawn deal with her permanently?"

            "No, Giles. I knew what being number two in the new Council meant when it happened, and I didn't quit. I also wasn't avoiding the subject, so don't even go there. I just … missed the call."

            "Did you? Not that I think Dawn incapable of liaising with Kennedy. Far from it." Willow flinched at the use of her former lover's name. "I just think, as I have told you before, that you need a change, Willow. You've not taken the time to assimilate this properly, and I worry for you. I worry for your work here at the Council, and I worry for you personally."

            "Well, I'm sorry if I'm not all instant get-bettery girl!" Her voice rang out violently in the stone room, and the head of the newly reconstituted Watcher's Council fought down a cheer. Fiery outbursts from Willow were few and far between these days. "And and and I'm sorry if you think I'm doing a crappy job, which I'm not by the way, but I'm not gonna just bail on this when my personal life isn't all hunky dory for awhile."

            "Please, settle down," he made a calming motion with his hands, and she realized she had jumped half out of her chair. She sat back down and smoothed her dark red skirt over her thighs. "Your work is excellent, Willow. As always, I might add. Without you, we would have fallen into disaster long ago. What I am saying, though, is that perhaps now that things are more settled and we have additional staff, it might be a good time for you to put yourself back together personally."

            As luck would have it, at that moment a small clacking at the window frame interrupted them.

            They looked up to see a massive brown owl perched on the windowsill, its beak poised to tap on the frame if necessary. Tied to its leg were a newspaper and two beige envelopes.

            "I wondered when the _Daily Prophet_ might arrive," Giles said. "It's a bit late today."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a few coins; Willow picked a bit of cookie out of the tin on Giles' desk and held it out. The bird took one small flap and glided onto the desk, gently nipping Willow's hand as it took the cookie. Giles dropped the coins in its pouch and took the mail. The owl hooted its thanks and returned to the window, obviously awaiting their response letters.

            "That is so cool, but I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

            "I have to admit, I never would have guessed that Quentin would have used such a service, It is quite fascinating." The renewal card had come two months after the building had finished; on a whim, Giles had filled it out and received a long distance crash course in wizard life. He was anxious to meet a true wizard, but couldn't think of how to contrive such a meeting.

            He scanned the front of the envelopes and handed the top one to Willow. Both were addressed in green calligraphy:

            _Miss Willow Rosenberg_

_            Room 1306_

_            The Watcher's Council_

_            London_

_            Mr. Rupert Giles_

_            On behalf of Dawn Summers_

_            Room 1308_

_            The Watcher's Council_

            London 

            Willow raised her eyebrows. Giles shrugged and handed her his letter opener, a plain silver dagger Buffy had bought him the previous Christmas. He kept it in plain view on his desk, a reminder to his many visitors that politics had not made him the head of the Council.

            She slit the envelope, impressed by the ornate wax seal, and scanned the contents.

_Dear Miss Rosenberg,_

_            It is my great pleasure to invite you to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As you probably do not know, we have a number of vacancies on the faculty for the upcoming school year. I would like very much to meet with you and discuss the possibility of you joining us as a professor._

_            I understand that you are quite busy with your duties to the Watcher's Council. If you are able, however, I would like to bring you to our school on August 1 for a tour of the grounds and a more in-depth discussion of this job offer._

_            Please respond by return owl as soon as possible. I hope that you will at least consider this offer, as I think your presence could be a valuable addition to our community._

_                                    Sincerely yours,_

_                                    Albus Dumbledore_

                                    Headmaster 

            She looked up; Giles had as much bewilderment on his face as she imagined she had on hers.

            "Giles? Who's Albus Dumbledore?"

            Above the letter, she saw his eyes shift onto her. He looked bewildered.

            "He is, arguably, the most powerful wizard in the world. As to further details, I believe you, Dawn, and I will find out on August 1."

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries 

_Blunt Trauma Ward_

            "… Came as soon as I heard, of course." 

Harry's head felt extraordinarily thick. He had been knocked out enough to know not to open his eyes yet, but the voice sounded vaguely familiar.

            "I'm so glad that you're here, Professor." He knew Hermione's voice anywhere. "It's been terrible."

            "I must say, my dear, you look more than a little tired."

            "An understatement, I'm sure. I have no doubt I look affright, and I believe the nursing staff thinks me some sort of demon."

            Harry wanted to laugh. He could tell she didn't give a rat's arse what they thought of her.

            "Uhhhh…" he moaned, daring to crack his eyes the smallest bit. Even in the dim room, the light assaulted him and he slammed them shut.

            "Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

            "Yeah, Hermione," he said in a surprisingly clear voice. He opened his eyes again, and this time was able to keep them open.

            She looked as if she had been up all night, which he assumed she had. Professor Dumbledore stood next to her, motionless, with a grim smile plastered on his face.

            "Hello, Harry."

            "Professor, hello."

            "How do you feel, young man?"

            Harry did a quick inventory. Every part of his body felt like the skin had been rubbed vigorously with sandpaper, but nothing seemed to be broken. He shook out his left arm, his right arm, and his left leg with no trouble.

            When he moved his right leg, his mind moved. The leg barely twitched.

            "Oh god. Oh god no," he whispered, trying desperately to move the leg. When it wouldn't, he gave Hermione a pleading look. "Hermione, call the nurse! Call the doctor! Call…"

            She put a hand lightly on his chest. "Shhh, Harry. Shhh. They already know."

            "B-b-but what … why … how?"

            "There was extensive nerve damage," she said, her tired voice nearly cracking. "They … they …" A lone tear dribbled down her cheek, foreshadowing the flood to come. "Oh, Harry, they can't do anything for you. Human nerve tissue can't be regrown."

            His green eyes expanded in horror. "You mean?"

            "You'll never have full use of your leg again."

            "N-never?"

            "There's some magic … between that and therapy, they think you'll someday walk with a cane, but … not for a long while. Years. Harry, I'm so sorry."

            The words smashed into his chest with all the power of an enormous hammer. Memories flashed through his mind. Long days running from Dudley. Malfoy chucking that damn Remembrall. Winning the Quidditch Cup. Chasing down Voldemort. Standing with Ron on Draft Day, amazed that the Cannons had traded up to take them both in the first round. Tapping Ron's fist before their first match. Ron.

            Ron.

            Harry's head whipped around, scanning the room as fast as he could. The three of them were alone. "Hermione! Ron! Where's Ron? Is he alright?"

            Her hand moved from his chest to his shoulder.

            "He's … you saved his life, Harry. From that height he would've died for sure." Her weeping continued unabated.

            Harry's terror receded a bit. If Ron had died… "He would have?"

            "Reckon I would've, yeah," said another voice. The words came in an empty monotone. From the hallway, a nurse helped Ron into the room and then onto the bed next to Harry's. His right arm and shoulder were heavily bandaged, and he sounded dead tired. "Had to take a walk, clear my head a little." He met his best friend's gaze. "Harry … thanks."

            Harry nodded, the reality of what had happened sinking in. "Sort of ironic, you know?"

            "How d'you figure?" Ron sounded as if he had already died.

            "We spend all our school years and a couple more fighting evil, take down the most powerful dark wizard in a century without a scratch, and it's a rogue bludger that nearly does us in." He smiled, the gesture small and bitter. 

Ron thought about it for a second before the irony punctured his self-pity. He mimicked Harry's smile.

            "Guess it coulda gone worse, yeah?"

            "Hell, I'd trade my leg for your life any day." Harry meant the line to be light, but it came out full of emotion and pain. Hermione lifted her hand to her mouth and stifled a gasp.

            "S'a good thing, too," Ron said. He held his hand out. The boys had tears in their eyes. Harry reached out and gripped it. "Thanks."

Beneath his beard, Dumbledore grinned. Both of them had tough days ahead, but he had seen what he needed to. They would weather the storm as they had every other life had thrown in their path: together.

            "I am glad to see you gentlemen in such strong spirit," the old headmaster said. An idea suddenly struck him. He very much wished he hadn't already been grinning, so that he could start now.

            "Thanks for comin', Professor," Ron replied.

            "How could I not, Mister Weasley? What are friends for, after all, if not to help each other and provide help in a time of crisis?"

            Harry raised an eyebrow. After thirteen years, he knew that tone of voice. "Professor?"

            "I believe it's clear that you two are finished for the season. Is that correct?"

            Ron nodded for them both. He had spoken to the doctors at St. Mungo's about it already. "I think it's safe to say neither of us'll be playing for a long time, Professor."

            "You too?" Harry asked.

            Ron pointed to his cast. "My shoulder an' back are pretty much bollocksed permanently. I landed on 'em, an' the bludger had already messed 'em something fierce. There's a chance I'll be able to play next year, but not likely. My arm's useless for six months as it is."

            His friend grimaced. "At least we can rehab together, eh?"

            "Yes, well, I think it is safe to assume you'll need a place to do so. Might I suggest your old stomping grounds?"

            Both younger men raised their eyebrows, but it was Hermione who spoke. "Hogwarts?"

            "I presumed you would like to be with them if you could, Hermione. Was that not correct?"

            Ron looked at her questioningly.

            "Professor Flitwick will be retiring next year," she informed him. "Professor Dumbledore offered to let me apprentice with him this year and take over Charms next year. I was going to tell you after the match."

            "D'you want to?" He asked, knowing the answer. Hermione badly wanted to teach anywhere, let alone at Hogwarts. She nodded vigorously. "If it's what you want, than of course. Dunno what I'll do there as a gimp, but it doesn't much matter, does it," he added dejectedly.

            "Same here," Harry agreed. "We couldn't have only one of us at Hogwarts, could we? The world would be totally out of balance.

            "Oh, I think we'll find quite a bit for the both of you to do. We have yet another new Dark Arts professor this year, and if my first choice for the post accepts, she'll need a large dollop of assistance." 

His blue eyes twinkled over half-moon lenses. 

"Yes, quite a bit indeed."


	2. Arrangements

August 1, 2004 

_The Leaky Cauldron_

            Giles looked up at the worn wooden sign. In the grand English tradition, it had no words, just a picture of a cauldron that had weathered away over time.

            "It's like Willy's without the ambience," Dawn said, "y'know, before Willy's got sucked into the Hellmouth with the rest of the town." 

Willow frowned at her. "What were you doing at Willy's?"

            "Nothing heavy, just a trick or two a night." The redhead glared; Giles looked scandalized. "Hello, kidding? Spike and me, picking up blood? Not like I would hang out there. Yech."

            "I say, can we go in now?"

            "Come on, Dawnie. Exasperated guy here isn't having any of your wit today, either." 

Willow took the lead, and the three of them entered the dingy pub. Crones in large black hats and men in dark robes seemed to predominate the crowd, but it was the man at the bar who grabbed their attention.

He wore deep purple robes with little embroidery and a matching wizard's cap that looked just out of a fairy tale, with his long white hair and beard reaching nearly to his belt. When he saw the three of them enter, he dropped a few silver coins on the bar and walked straight towards them.

            "Mister Giles? Miss Rosenberg?" His slightly hoarse voice was quiet, but nevertheless seemed to fill the room. He offered Dawn a paternal smile and held out his hand. "And you must be the younger Miss Summers. Pleased to meet you, young lady; my name is Albus Dumbledore." 

            Dawn, completely awed, could only shake his hand and squeak out a hello.

Handshakes and greetings were exchanged all around, and they took a table in the rear corner of the pub. Tom the bartender made his way to them and asked about drinks.

            The three guests looked to Dumbledore.

            "If I may?"

            "Certainly," Giles said.

            "Butterbeers for myself and Miss Rosenberg, please, Tom. Firewhiskey for Mr. Giles, and a cherry syrup and soda for Miss Summers," he ordered, pointing out each person in turn. As Tom departed, he said to Giles, "I rather hope you'll like it. It's a bit different than some of the muggle liquors I've tried. I understand you enjoy a good scotch every now and again."

            "I certainly do, Professor."

            "Please, Mister Giles, call me Albus."

            "Very well, if you will call me Rupert," he responded. Giles, who had been wary of this meeting, found himself taking to Dumbledore right away.

            "And I'm Willow."

            "Don't forget me. I'm Dawn."

            "Excellent," Dumbledore said jauntily. "I'm sure that you have a thousand questions, some of which I will even be able to answer, but I think it best that we wait until we are on the train to Hogwarts.

            "Train?" Dawn asked.

            "Yes. The school has it's own, the Hogwarts Express. I would have arranged for an enchanted coach, but I find the train ride pleasant and I rarely get the opportunity to take it."

            "Cool."

            "I think so." 

At that moment, Tom arrived with the drinks. The three visitors took cautious sips, then smiled brightly as they tasted each concoction.

            "That's so good," Willow said.

            "Can I have some?"

            She held the bottle to Dawn with a skeptical look. "It's butterscotchy, but if you want it, sure."

            "Blech. No." Dawn hated butterscotch in all forms.

            "So, Miss Rosenberg," Dumbledore began, "I think it would be alright if we discussed my offer to you at the moment. We are, as it seems every summer, in dire need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Your reputation in that area precedes you."

            Dozens of questions popped into her head. "What age groups do you have?" 

            "You would be teaching ages 11 through 18."

            "What exactly does this Defense stuff entail? I mean, yeah, I'm big with the monster fighting and the spell casting, sure, but my experience against evil wizards is limited to pretty much one."

            "One?" Giles interjected. "Who?"

            "Rack. Oh, two, I guess, if you count Amy's mom – no, wait, three, Ethan Rayne, except for the last two I didn't really do any magic. Do they still count?"

            Dumbledore chuckled. "Don't worry, my dear. I understand your experience is not spread evenly through all areas. I have, in fact, recruited two assistants to help you who have a great deal of experience battling dark wizards. Most of the teachers we get are barely qualified. It is, I'm afraid, a rather difficult position to fill. You will be the most experienced Dark Arts teacher we have had in many a year."

            "Oh. Well, good." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Giles explained the basics of Hogwarts to me – boarding school, four houses, best school in Europe yadda yadda yadda. I have a lot more questions, about pay and benefits and stuff like that, but maybe they can wait until we get there?"

            "That would be fine." Dumbledore finished his drink and rose. "Shall we catch the train?"

            "Remind you of Halloween at all?" Willow whispered to Giles as they entered Platform Nine and Three Quarters. 

He nodded, amazed at the simplicity of it. A hidden train platform at the King's Cross station. _All of the wizards and witches just blend in with the crowds_, he thought. _You'd never know they're here._

            Dumbledore led them to a private compartment on the train outfitted with a conference table and chairs. Bottles of each of the refreshments from the Leaky Cauldron lined one wall, and as the train noisily chugged towards Hogwarts, they all took seats around the table. Dumbledore extracted his wand from his robes and waved it, muttering an incantation the others could not here. A scroll case appeared on the table.

            "That's a … it's a magic wand," Willow marveled. "I didn't know people used those."

            "It's an excellent focusing tool," he told her. "It makes the casting of everyday spells far less draining. Should you accept my offer, I would think you'd pick one up before you arrived. Once you get the hang of it, I doubt you would go back."

            "Neat."

            "Now, Rupert, shall we discuss the real reason you and young Dawn are here with Miss Rosenberg?"

            "That would be fine. Your second message was a bit cryptic."

            "I feared its interception, I'm afraid. There are some additional players here who would be happy to prevent any consorting between us. Players, I might add, both on our side and the other. I don't know if you are aware, but prior to the destruction of the Watcher's Council, the Council and the Ministry of Magic were on rather bad terms."

            "I had no idea we were even involved with the Ministry," Giles admitted. "I had become something of a pariah after my years in Sunnydale, and before that I was far from highly placed."

            "Do you know about Cornelius Fudge?" Giles shook his head. "Fudge was the previous Minister of Magic. He and Mister Travers shared a remarkable personal enmity. By the time Fudge left office and Minister Snyder was installed, the Council had broken off ties altogether. Snyder, unfortunately, is unpleasant and uninterested in reestablishing those severed ties."

            "Must be the name," Willow muttered.

            "I'm sorry?"

            "Long story that ends with a giant snake and the eating of authority figures. We don't really have time for it."

            "Oh." He looked genuinely interested in the story, but pressed on anyway. "I suppose not. At any rate, Snyder is not interested in these ties. I am. Especially with the new Watcher's Council, which, by all accounts, is a fairly amazing institution."

            Giles smiled. Willow blushed.

            "As some of our recent history has proven, a secondary network beyond the Ministry is sometimes quite necessary to counter the forces of darkness. I believe another such instance is about to arise because of that scroll." He pointed to the case on the table.

            "You would like our help dealing with a scroll?"

            "A prophecy, Rupert. A prophecy about one of my students. And yes, I believe I'll need all the help I can muster."

The Burrow 

            Charlie and Bill Weasley traded a look across the couch as they dug into their eggs and bacon. They both had the same thought.

            _One more and this house will explode._

            They had never seen The Burrow so full. Harry and Ron had been there for eight days recovering from their injuries. Hermione had come with them and never left. After their arrival, visitors started to mount. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had come straight from the hospital, followed closely by Arabella Figg and Mundungus Fletcher. The four of them had pitched a house-tent on the front lawn, sharing it quite comfortably because Sirius rarely left Harry's side.

            All of the Weasleys had come home. Fred and George had closed the shop in London for a week, and Ginny and Percy had been granted leave from the Ministry. Ginny had been the greatest surprise; tiny slip of a girl though she might be, in her auror's cloak and black robes she looked regal and menacing. Neither of them had seen her in full uniform before. Her partner, though he couldn't come, had sent his best for a speedy recovery. Ginny swore he meant it, which shocked everyone.

            Draco Malfoy had never wished the best of anything for Harry or Ron.

            On this particular morning, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and the Creevey brothers had all apparated in to see their friends, adding to the crowd. Hardly a seat could be found anywhere in the house.

Much to Bill and Charlie's amazement, none of it seemed to matter. Despite the visitors and a stack of letters requiring a fleet of owls, they had never seen either Harry or Ron in worse spirits.

            "When Cedric died," Hermione had whispered to Bill the night before, "remember? That's the only time I've seen Harry like this. Ron? Never."

            "Wish there was something we could do," Bill muttered, taking a bite of his breakfast.

            "You know there isn't, big brother," Charlie said grimly. "They need to heal at their own pace. Hogwarts'll be good for them that way." 

            "What's Dumbledore got cooking, d'you think?"

            "Somethin'. He's as crafty as ever, I'm sure."

            "I hope. I think Hermione's right about Ron, though. He's never been like this. Not even over her." Which, Charlie knew, was saying something. The end of Ron and Hermione's torrid romance had been jagged and bitter. Only the continued threat of Voldemort had been enough to bind them together and save their friendship. The brothers knew how brightly his torch still burned for her. Something affecting Ron more deeply than that…

            "No. Not even over her." He turned back to his breakfast, letting his thoughts linger on his youngest brother.

            On the floor above them, Hermione and Sirius stood shoulder to shoulder, wands out, staring at the latest arrival.

            "A bloody menace, that's what this is," Sirius muttered.

            "Damn right," Hermione swore. Two days and four wheelchairs had her extremely angry, and she had long since passed the point where language bothered her. "Why won't this charm work? It's so simple."

            "It's okay, Hermione," Harry said from the bed. "Really. I can do it the muggle way."

            "You may have to, if we don't figure this out."

            "We'll get it," Sirius growled.

            "We better. My father said he'd try, but melting the first three makes getting more of them problematic."

            "You tried a simple direction charm, right?" Colin Creevey asked.

            "We did. The motion charm mixes badly with it, though."

            "What about some sort of charm that pushes the wheelchair, instead of directing it?" Dean suggested.

            "No control. He needs all four directions."

            "Bloody hell, why don't you just bring the damn thing to life," Ron barked. He was sick and tired of debating the best way to make a wheelchair work. The whole room turned at his outburst. He ignored them and half-pushed, half-rolled himself out of bed. "Sod this. I'm gettin' breakfast." With his good hand, he grabbed a shirt and slipped it awkwardly over half his body. When he tried to twist his bound arm under it, he flexed something he shouldn't have.

            The searing pain sent him to his knees. Even the _Cruciatus_ curse hadn't hurt him so badly.

            Before the thud could register in his legs, Hermione reached his side.

            "Come on, Ron. Try and calm down, okay? Let me." She took the free end of his shirt and he batted her hand away.

            "I'm not a cripple, Mione. Don't treat me like one." He looked at the floor as he tried to fit the shirt over his cast. 

            "I know you're not," she said in the most soothing voice she could. Her anger at the wheelchair dissipated at the sight of Ron in pain. "That doesn't mean you don't get some help, okay?" She wrapped the shirt around him and started buttoning it loosely. One of her knuckles slipped and brushed his chest. The contact jolted them both, an electric reminder of things past. For a split-second their eyes met. Then Ron was off the floor, across the room, and out the door with a hasty "I'll grab yours" to Harry.

            Hermione sighed. "That was unnecessary," she muttered under her breath.

            From the bed, Harry offered her a sympathetic glance. In his wan condition, it looked pathetic.

            "That's it. We're doing this now," she said forcefully, rising to her feet. "Bring it to the center."

            Dennis Creevey and Neville pushed the chair into the center of the room. Hermione shooed them back a few steps and walked a circle around it.

            "Here's what we want it to do," she said, talking herself through the process. In school, she had done this with hard assignments in transfiguration and found it useful every time. "We want it to move of its own accord. We want Harry to be able to direct it with his wand. We want it to be able to levitate."

            "We do?" Neville asked.

            "Stairs," she said dismissively. "Hogwarts is not handicapped accessible."

            The blood drained from Harry's face when she said handicapped. Sirius put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's temporary, Harry. Temporary."

            "What if we got Flitwick?" Seamus suggested.

            "I owled him. He doesn't know what to do, but he's looking. He'll apparate in if he finds something before we do."

            A soft knock at the door interrupted them. Ginny came in, wearing a blue sweater and jeans and carrying a tray with breakfast foods on it.

            "Ron forgot he couldn't carry it and open doors," she said apologetically. "There you are, Harry." She placed the tray on his lap and he smiled gratefully.

            "Thanks, Gin. Thanks for coming back, too," he added. With all the commotion, they had enjoyed little chance to talk. He hadn't seen Ginny in months.

            "Of course." She looked him over, lingering on his leg, and leaned over. "I shouldn't tell you this, but you should've seen the fit Draco threw when he heard. He felt terrible for you, though he'd never admit it. He wanted you and Ron to take the league and play for England."

            "I don't believe it."

            She nodded. "He doesn't think I know, but he put ten galleons on Chudley at the start of the season."

            Harry raised his eyebrows. Most of the Malfoy fortune had been seized long ago. Ten galleons was not a pittance for Draco. "Wow."

            "Don't tell him I said anything. Please?"

            "I won't," he assured her. He looked even more downcast, though, and she wished she hadn't mentioned it.

            Desperate to avoid his eyes, she turned to the wheelchair, which Hermione was now on her hands and knees inspecting. "What are you trying to do?"

            "We need to enchant it to follow Harry's commands," Hermione said.

            "I can do that."

            "You can?"

            "Sure. You can, too. Remember? Self-aware defenses? Same thing, just use the word for chair."

            Hermione could have slapped herself. In the second year of auror training, they had learned to enchant weapons to follow commands as defensive measures. She had completely forgotten.

            "It's been awhile," she said ruefully. "I'm so foolish sometimes. Your brother even suggested we bring it to life." She laughed. "Would you mind? I'm out of practice with that particular enchantment and we really can't afford another mistake."

            "Sure," Ginny said, drawing her wand. She swished and flicked, then said "_Animo curulis_."

            A fine blue mist sprayed from her wand and settled over the chair, seeping into the joints and wrapping around the metal. In seconds, the glow disappeared. Ginny strode over and sat down. She pointed her wand up. The chair floated off the ground. She pointed forward. It crept forward a few feet. She pointed down, and it landed with a slight thump.

            Everyone spoke at once.

            "Well done." Hermione.

"Wow." Seamus.

            "Cool." Dean.

            "Amazing." Neville.

            "All right!" Dennis and Colin.

            "Thanks, Ginny." Harry added. "Now can I get out of this bed? Please?"

            Everyone laughed, even Sirius and eventually Harry, and for a moment the mood was once again happy and light.

_The Hogwarts Express_

            "So let me see if I understand," Giles said. He, Willow, and Dawn were all slackjawed at Dumbledore's interpretation of the prophecy. "One of your students, though you have no way of knowing which one until he or she fulfills the three parts of the prophecy, will willingly entreat the goddess Anephram, who we know nothing about, to grant them her power, then use it to somehow revitalize the dark movement in the wizarding world."

            "An excellent summation, Rupert. That's exactly it."

            "What are the three, whatchamacallit, tripwire thingies?" Dawn asked.

            "I have been unable to translate that section of the scroll. To be honest, none of us even recognize the language. I had hoped you might help in that regard."

            "We can certainly try, though most of our language experts are gone. They were housed in the building itself at the time of the bomb. There are some consultants we could bring in, I suppose."

            Willow looked pensive. "Y'know what I'm thinking, Giles?"

            "What's that?"

            "The translation program. The gypsy one that …" she paused, knowing this would hurt him, "that we used for Angel's soul."

            "Jenny's program," he said dourly.

            "Uh huh. If we can't figure out the language, I could modify it, maybe, and try and run it on the prophecy. Computers are way faster now. I bet I could beef it up. We could be talking hamburger to Big Mac, even."

            "I'm sorry," Dumbledore broke in, "a program? What do you mean?"

            "It's a computer program, a fractal algorithm she developed to read stuff we couldn't read. It worked on a gypsy spell we needed to read."

            "You must forgive me, I'm not what the muggles refer to as computer literate."

            "That's alright, Professor. I think we could nail it down for you. If anyone can, anyway."

            "What do you need me for?" Dawn asked. "I don't even know what a fracture goth thing is."

            "Fractal algorithm, Dawnie," Willow said, shaking her head. Sometimes Dawn could be so like Buffy it was frightening. "College math."

            "Oh. Not there yet. But still, what's my deal in this?"

            "Before we get to that," Dumbledore said, "I need you to try something for me." He drew his wand and took a glass from the side table. After a few whispered words, the glass filled with water from his wand. "When I hand you my wand, I want you to do this," he made a swish movement with his hand, finishing with a dainty flick, "and say the word _arefacio_.She won't be hurt, even if it goes wrong," he said to Giles, who nodded his assent.

            He handed the wand across. Dawn mimicked the movement and said "_Arefacio_."

            The water in the cup vanished.

            "Excellent," Dumbledore said with a merry clap of his hands. "I thought that might work."

            "Whoa, check me out. I can do spells."

            "How?" Willow asked. "She never … before …"

            "The wand, Willow," Giles said, his brow creased in thought. "It's a focusing tool, and Dawn is a living battery. Don't you see? The wand taps into her power."

            "Yes, that's it exactly," Dumbledore said. "I had hoped it might be the case, of course, but you never do know until you try. Since it is, however, I can dispense with my contingency plan and simply offer you admission to Hogwarts, Miss Summers."

            "Admission? To a wizard school? Aren't I kind of … well, old, Professor?"

            "You are slightly older than our normal applicants – in fact, you are as old as our oldest students. I thought what we might do, if you join us, is place you in with the seventh years for basic classes, then allow you to take additional personal instruction with some of our professors instead of our elective courses. Unlike most of our students, you have a career already chosen, and it has little use for something like Arithmancy or Divination."

            "You mentioned a contingency plan?" Giles asked.

            "Yes." A hint of something flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. Months later, Willow would recognize it for what it was: deviousness. "You see, I would like to borrow Miss Summers for the year, Rupert. I hoped we could simply enroll her, but if not, we could have made some allowances for her lack of magical abilities."

            "Borrow me?"

            "Yes. Given your age, as I just explained, you would not be a typical student. Nor," he added with his eyes twinkling, "am I enrolling you to be. We need someone among the students who will be able to warn us, should the prophecy be triggered early. Unfortunately, I know no one of an appropriate age and level of training that could be trusted if things got a bit messy." He had found himself thinking longingly of the days when Harry, Ron, and Hermione could not only be trusted, but could be expected to learn everything on their own as well.

            Dawn picked up on his thinking instantly.

            "And I'm Hellmouth girl, plus mystical energy ball with magic powers, so if … stuff … hits the fan, I'm not going to freak."

            "Yes. Quite."

            "It would mean a leave of absence from the Council and from your Watcher training, Dawn," Giles said seriously. She was already behind because of the effort to rebuild the organization.

            "This is way more important, Giles. Besides, I'll be learning to use a freaking wand. Tell me that won't be useful when I get a Slayer?"

            "Minus the naughty words, I gotta agree. This isn't training. Not really. It's an assignment that no one but Dawn can do," Willow argued. "Plus, I'll be there. We can still do some Watcher-type stuff."

            "We can do without her if we must," Dumbledore said. "I've gotten some unexpected help from other sources for the next year. If you truly can't spare Dawn …"

            "No," Giles said, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, "we can. I don't want to, and we'll have to clear it with Buffy, but something of this magnitude will no doubt merit our best efforts."

            "That's Giles-speak for yes," Dawn assured Dumbledore. "You learn these things when you spend six months on a school bus with him."

            Dumbledore chuckled. He felt the train slow and glanced out the window.

            "Well then Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg," he gestured to the door, "welcome to Hogwarts."


	3. Logistics

August 8, 2004 

            Harry squinted as the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley assaulted his eyes. He pointed his wand and rolled up beside Ron.

            "Dumbledore won't be here, right?"

            "That's what the letter said. He didn't really give a good description of the people we're meeting, though. What were their names again?"

            Ron pulled the letter from his pocket and skimmed it quickly. "Looks like Willow Rosenberg, she's our boss, and Dawn Summers. I guess she's a student, since it says we're here to get her supplies."

            "I'm thinking you must be Ron and Harry," a feminine voice said behind them. 

            The two boys turned around; they couldn't help but stare.

            They knew the redhead was Willow and the brunette was Dawn (and that Dawn was slightly younger than eighteen), but neither had expected them to be absolutely gorgeous or walking towards them with such fetching smiles.

"Uh, hi," Harry managed. Then he gave himself a mental shake, "Yeah, I'm Harry Potter, and this is my friend Ron Weasley." He shook hands with Willow and Dawn. Ron's ears went red, but then he shook their hands and introduced himself. He felt like a fifteen year-old schoolboy.

"The scar kind of gave you away," Willow said. "Dumbledore mentioned it, and that Ron had the bright red hair."

            Dawn eyed Harry's wheelchair. "There's no magic remedy for whatever happened, huh?"

            "Dawn!" Willow said sharply.

            "It's okay," he responded with a chuckle. He could tell Dawn was honestly curious. "Not really. I can do this, though." He gestured and the wheelchair lifted off the ground.

            She squealed with delight, clapping her hands over her mouth. "That is so cool!"

            Harry landed and smiled faintly. "It is sort of cool, I agree."

            Willow looked from the wheelchair to the massive cast peeking through Ron's robes. "If, um, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to you guys? I know you're helping me with the class – was it something Dark Artsy?"

            "No," Ron grumbled, surprised that Willow didn't know. The story had been front-page news in the _Daily Prophet_ for a week. Then he remembered Dumbledore's letter – neither Willow nor Dawn had ever been in the wizarding world before. "We defeated the Dark Arts injury-free. It was a Quidditch accident."

            "We fell from our brooms," Harry added. "Ron from eighty feet, me from about fifty."

            "Oh goddess," Willow said, "I'm so sorry."

            "You rode brooms?"

            Harry nodded. He could tell Ron didn't feel like talking about this, so he answered Dawn. "Yeah. D'you know about Quidditch?"

            "Uh uh."

            "Well, c'mon, then. We'll walk … er, roll, and get you your school supplies, which is what we're here for after all, and on the way we'll talk Quidditch."

            They made their way down Diagon Alley – Dawn referred to it as 'The Magic Box Strip Mall', which made Willow giggle but was lost on Harry and Ron – and talked Quidditch as they pointed out the various stores. Ron said barely five words as they walked. Harry, as he had begun to do when Ron slipped into a funk, simply took his place in the conversation.

All along the street, Willow could feel people whispering and pointing as they passed. She decided it must be the clothes she and Dawn were wearing. Jeans and t-shirts didn't seem to be a part of the wizard ensemble. Robes, she quickly decided, had just moved up the shopping list. The whispering was more than a little eerie.

            When they reached Gringotts, Willow and Dawn made it clear that they already had wizard money, thanks to Dumbledore and Giles, but Ron said he had to go in and transfer some to his parents' account.

            As he stalked off, Dawn edged towards Harry. "Your friend seems kinda surly."

            Harry sighed. "He's taking the injury thing pretty hard. His mood is permanently bleak. Not that I'm much better, mind you," he admitted, "but it's such a nice day, I'm finding it hard to keep in a bad mood."

            "How long ago was it?"

            "Three weeks. The Quidditch playoffs start a month from now. Without us, it doesn't look like Chudley'll make it. They haven't won in more than a century, so it's nothing new, but Ron really felt like we had a chance. It has him more than a little upset."

            "You guys are pretty good?" Willow asked.

            "We were." Harry pushed back the black cloud of depression that hung at the edge of his mind. "Ron might play again, someday. I'm done, though."

            "Are you … is the chair permanent?"

            "No."

            Willow saw the fierce determination burn in his eyes, and a thought suddenly struck her: Harry Potter was not someone to be trifled with. She wondered what they meant about facing the dark arts injury-free.

            "I can't ever ride a broom, though," Harry added with a touch of bitterness, "because you need both legs for balance and turning, and I'll never get full use of it back."

            She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry."

            Behind them, Dawn's lips curled into a sly smile. She had wondered if Willow might find a cute, available professor to banish the memory of that bitch Kennedy. And Harry, wheelchair or no, certainly qualified as cute. She'd have to find out if he was available.

            When Ron returned, they decided the best place to start would be Ollivander's. Seeing the single wand and purple cushion in the window and glancing at the shop's appearance, Willow turned to Dawn. "Sorta Dickensian thing going on here, y'know?"

            Dawn nodded, holding the door open as the others made their way inside.

            The room, Harry noted, was still stuffed to the brim with thin wand boxes. In fact, it seemed time had stood still in the thirteen years since he had purchased his wand. Even the dust balls looked familiar.

            They waited a few minutes before Mr. Ollivander emerged from the back. His silver eyes took Dawn by surprise and she nearly backed into Ron.

            "'Ey! Watch it!"

            "Sorry," she said sheepishly. Harry glared at Ron.

            "Ah, s'alright."

            "Hello, hello," Ollivander said, looking them over. He seemed to ignore Harry's wheelchair, his eyes skimming right past it. "Ah yes, Mister Potter. Holly, eleven inches, supple, with a single phoenix feather inside, if I do recall. And I should, of course. Quite a famous wand, that. Maybe the most famous I ever sold. Still working well for you?"

            "Yes, sir, quite well, thanks," Harry said. He still didn't like Ollivander any more than he had at age eleven. Something about the man was distinctly off. Thinking about Ollivander, he didn't notice Willow's questioning glance.

            "And the youngest of the Weasley clan. Willow, fourteen inches, with a bit of unicorn hair, if I'm not mistaken?"

            "That's correct, sir."

            Ollivander leaned towards Dawn. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, young lady. Every one. The good … and the bad," he said, looking at Harry. Then he rocked back on his heels. "Now, you must be Miss Summers and Professor Rosenberg. Professor Dumbledore owled ahead that you would be coming today, and I have taken the liberty of pulling a few wands for your perusal."

            "Wait one second," Harry said. He backed his chair towards the wall. "Okay. All set."

            "What's that about?" Dawn frowned.

            "Things tend to zing in here. I can't dodge as well as I used to."

            Her eyebrows went up.

            "Don't worry," Ron said, "nothin' too bad'll happen."

            "Yes, yes, quite right," Ollivander said distractedly. He opened a box and handed the wand inside to Willow. "Here, Professor, try this. You're a bit old for your first wand, but it should make no difference. This is beech, nine inches, with a bit of dragon heartstring inside."

            Willow took it, but nothing happened.

            "Go on, give it a wave."

            She waved it gently, and then nearly dropped it as a loud bang and a swirl of red gas erupted from the end. A tiny ball of energy flew across the room, narrowly missing Harry because he pulled himself half out of the chair. Willow looked aghast, but he gave her a reassuring smile and a shrug. He had expected something like that.

            "No. Definitely not that. Your first name is Willow, hmm?"

            "Yes."

            "Perhaps something from that tree, then." His gnarled fingers danced up and down the stacks until he pulled out a yellowed box and extracted the wand inside. "Try this. Ten inches, supple like Mr. Potter's, but crafted from a willow tree and with a bit of hair from a werewolf inside."

            Willow took the wand, her body and arm immediately warming. She waved it, producing a glow and a soft hum.

            "Perfect," Ollivander said with a creepy smile.

            "Werewolf hair. Raise your hand if you're shocked," Dawn mumbled. Willow glared at her. Harry and Ron both heard her and looked at one another.

            "Now then, Miss Summers, Professor Dumbledore suggested you might require something a bit unique." He pulled another box from the pile next to him. "Try this please: mahogany, twelve inches, and quite pliable."

            "My father's wand was mahogany," Harry said to Ron.

            "Really? How d'you know?" Harry gestured to Ollivander. "Oh, right."

            Dawn tentatively took the wand from him and waved it quickly.

            "Ooh," she said, as the she and the wand began to glow, "that's neat."

            "What's inside that one?" Willow asked, her features pinched with concern.

            "Something quite rare, that I don't normally use," Ollivander replied with another of his eerie smiles, "a shard of tooth given me by Grosdora."

            "S'not a wizard, is it?" Ron asked.

            "No, Mister Weasley. Not at all. Grosdora is in fact a white dragon."

            "Oh," he gasped, a look of wonder in his eyes.

            Harry, Willow, and Dawn all focused on Ron. The expression was by far the least unhappy the girls had seen on his face.

            "You dunno about white dragons, Harry?"

            "Uh uh. Should I?"

            "Guess not. I thought Charlie might have told you … ah, well, see, they're not like other dragons. Hermione could say it better but, they, um, they're smart, y'know? Really smart. Smarter than humans. They're also unbelievably rare, maybe a hundred left in the world, Charlie told me."

            "Indeed, they are," Ollivander chimed in, "and I had the good fortune to meet one some twenty years past. Do be careful with that wand, young lady. There are none like it in my whole collection."

            After Ollivander had been paid (and Ron's spirits somewhat lifted by the visit), they set off to collect the rest of the items on Willow and Dawn's lists. When the two girls stopped in Madame Malkin's, Harry and Ron took their leave to converse with Fred and George, whose shop was only a little ways down the road, for a few minutes.

            "So," Dawn said with a grin as a magical tape measure flitted across Willow's body, "how about that Harry, huh?"

            "Don't even start, Dawnie."

            "I'm just saying. He seems … nice. Plus, he's plenty cute with that black hair and those big, green eyes. Not to mention that dreamy accent."

            "Dawnie." The redhead frowned. "He's. A. Boy."

            "Which you once liked."

            "Dawn."

            "I'm just saying, he seems nice. Friendly. Did I say cute?"

            "Did you notice what that guy said about him? Most famous wand ever?"

            "Yeah. Do you know what that's about?"

            "Not a clue. We'll have to ask Giles."

            "People were being all whispery in the street, too. I thought it was our clothes…"

            "Me too."

            "… But after what Ollivander said, I think it might be Harry and Ron and their injuries."

            One of the salesclerks interrupted them. "Can I help you ladies find something, now that we have your measurements?"

            Willow nodded, and the talk of Harry and Ron switched to robe styles.

            Harry and Ron made their way down the street in silence. Ron's funk was seriously beginning to wear on Harry's nerves. Hermione insisted it would pass, and though he agreed, he couldn't help his annoyance. Ron seemed to be acting as if the world had ended, when he, in Harry's opinion, had the far better lot in this mess. At least he could still walk.

            "So," Harry finally said halfway to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, "d'you think you could have been more unfriendly to them? Because if you do, we could go back and try and squeeze some more in."

            Ron stopped, a puzzled expression on his face. "What?"

            "I said, could – you – have – been – more – unfriendly?" He enunciated each word carefully as he brought his chair to a halt. 

            "Why d'you care if I'm not feelin' like talking anyway? S'not like you didn't fill in," he grumped.

"We have to work with Willow all year, and we both know there's more going on here than Dumbledore said, meaning something important. Doesn't Dawn seem a little old to be starting at Hogwarts?"

            "Yeah, but what's that got to do with us?"

            "Maybe you've forgotten about us and Hogwarts: if there's trouble there, it finds us, remember? Every time. I don't need my scar hurting or Hermione shouting in my ear to see it coming."

            Ron still didn't see what that had to do with him. So what if his mood was a little black? When he told Harry that, though, his friend's nostrils flared and Ron knew he was risking a burst of Harry's temper.

            "Dammit, Ron! If something bad is happening at Hogwarts and Dumbledore needs us to help with it, don't you think we're disadvantaged enough without you going nutters because of your arm? I'm sorry Quidditch is out, but at least you can still bloody walk!"

            "Harry, I –"

            "No, I'm not finished!" Passersby were starting to stare at them as Harry's voice continued to rise. "This is horrible, right. I know it. You know it. We're stuck this way for a long while. I can't even take a damn shower anymore. But something's up, Willow and Dawn are in the middle of it, and so are we, but instead of trying to be pleasant to them and maybe get to know them a little, you sulk and snap. It's bullshit. I can't walk, and it's all I can think about, except that I know whatever we're about to get mixed up in, we could be dead. So I'm not worried about my leg right now. This is a job. Like before. We were aurors once. Act like it. Or did those years of training just pass you by altogether?"

            Ron looked at his friend for a long, silent minute. Harry watched his face flush with embarrassment.

            "You're right. I'm bein' a prat."

            "I know."

            "Hogwarts means trouble."

            "I know."

            The redhead's eyes flicked to Harry's legs and wheelchair. "How're we gonna fit the invisibility cloak over that?"

            "Won't need to. We're teachers, remember? Dinner at the head table and everything."

            They both smiled, thinking of Snape's reaction to that.

            "He's gonna throw a wingding."

            "I know."

            "Alright, I'll put it away as best I can."

            "I know."

            "Did you hear what Dawn said about the werewolf hair?" Ron said as they resumed walking. "Wonder what that was about." 

            "About that, I have no idea. Just another mystery for our growing list."

             "Those girls are muggles, but they know about werewolves, an' Dumbledore's got us workin' for Willow."

            "All true. So what?"

            "D'you reckon it's maybe a good thing that being aurors is the only thing we're better at than playing Quidditch?"


	4. Homecoming

Hogwarts 

            By the time the Hogwarts Express arrived at the school, Ron's mood had completely reversed. He couldn't help it; the stories Willow and Dawn told about life in Sunnydale were like something out of a novel. As Harry floated his chair out of the passenger compartment, he ran back everything they had told them. Slayers. Vampires. Magic without wands. The Watcher's Council. The First Evil. Harry shuddered at the thought. The things those two had faced made Voldemort seem a shadow by comparison.

            Behind Harry, Willow's head was awhirl. She could tell from the boys' reactions that this Voldemort guy was no lightweight, and she distinctly remembered Ron muttering something about a goblin insurrection and tribes of giants before Harry had silenced him with a look.

            "So your sister is one of these auror guys who tracks down evil wizards?" Dawn was asking Ron as they stepped off the train. Once she had gotten him talking, she found herself enjoying an intense flashback. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about Ron evoked the image she had of Xander, back in the day when a visit from him meant an hour searching for the right outfit. She knew she had to be careful; whether she was almost eighteen or not, Ron was in his mid-twenties, undeniably handsome, and a teacher at her new school. Crushing on him would help no one.

            "Yeah. She's a right good one, too. Ginny can be tough as hell when she wants."

            Harry heard Ron's comment and started to laugh. Not just a chuckle, but sudden, gut-wrenching peals of laughter.

            "What're you laughin' about?"

            "I … was thinking …" Harry gasped out as his shoulders shook with mirth. Willow and Dawn, thoroughly amused, watched with silent smiles. He laughed until he couldn't breathe very well, then sorted himself out with a few deep gasps. "I was thinking of the time you walked in on her and Dean in the common room. Remember that?"

            Ron flushed crimson.

            "Ooh, story! Tell," Dawn said.

            "Nah, Harry, please don't."

            Harry's green eyes twinkled. "I'll tell you later."

            "Aw."

            "It'll be worth the wait, young lady. It's a good story," called a female voice from further down the platform. Two figures, one small and the other enormous, made their way down the platform.

            "Mione?" Ron asked, relieved. "That you?"

            "Not jus' her. Yeh think I'd let her come down alone on yer first day back?"

            "Hagrid!" Harry and Ron took off down the platform to greet the half-giant. They hadn't seen Hagrid in months, since the first Quidditch match of the season.

            Willow and Dawn traded a confused look and followed the two boys. Up close, Hagrid's size and shaggy appearance startled them both. Even more startling was that Willow swore she could see tears in his eyes as he looked at Harry's wheelchair. Life as a Slayerette had prepared her for a lot, but crying giants?

            "Didna wanna believe it, Harry," he said, his voice trembling. "Hoped the _Prophet _was rumor-mongerin' or summat, but then Dumbledore left fer St. Mungo's … Woulda come … probably shoulda, but yeh know me, can't apparate or nothin', an' Dumbledore said yeh'd be comin' anyway …" He trailed off, looking more than a little sick.

            Harry put a hand on Hagrid's club-sized forearm. "It's okay, Hagrid. The Burrow was full anyway. You would've been uncomfortable."

            "Doesn't matter, tha'. Shoulda been there …"

            "Hagrid, really, don't say that," Ron added. He hadn't seen Hagrid this miserable since Buckbeak's trial. "'Cos no one died or anything. We're here now, mate, like old times an' everything."

            "Honestly, Hagrid," Hermione said, "it's just like I told you. Don't feel badly. You knew they'd be here."

            "You know what else? We didn't really get excited 'til we got your rock cakes from Hedwig. After that, we were bloody fired up about Hogwarts, because we knew it would be like before. You don't have to feel bad." Not that their excitement had extended to eating the rock cakes, but Harry wasn't about to tell Hagrid that. Besides, Crookshanks seemed to find them delightful.

            "You three as perfessors. Seems hard ta believe, don' it? Weren't yeh s'posed ta bring the new Dark Arts teacher and her student with ya?" 

            Harry nodded and gestured behind them; Hagrid noticed Willow and Dawn for the first time.

            "Oy! Yeh coulda said somethin' 'fore now. An' me carryin' on like a great blubberin' whale." He extended a ham-sized hand to Willow. "Yeh mus' be Professor Rosenberg. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' the Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts. I … erm … also teach Care of Magical Creatures classes," he added with a shy grin. "Yeh can call me Hagrid, though, everyone does, jus' about."

            Willow took his hand with her tiny one, afraid it might disappear forever. She was touched by Hagrid's obvious and overwhelming concern for Harry and Ron. "That's me. Please, call me Willow."

            "Dawn Summers," Dawn said brightly as Hagrid moved to her. "I'm only a student, though, so are you Professor Hagrid to me?"

            Hagrid blushed; Harry, Ron, and Hermione all laughed. They'd never heard Hagrid called 'Professor' before.

            "Jus' Hagrid'll do fine, lass." His face was tomato red with embarrassment. "C'mon then, let's get yeh up to the castle. I reckon Dumbledore's got words for yeh." He led them down towards the lake, the enormous lantern casting a glow across the ground a hundred feet in front of them.

            "So what'd we miss?" Ron asked Hermione as they followed along.

            Her face turned grave. "There's quite a lot going on, actually. I expect Professor Dumbledore to cover most of it tonight. It seems there's a scroll and a prophecy about to be fulfilled. Beyond that, I haven't been able to gather much. He hasn't briefed the staff or Professor McGonagall would have told me, and he hasn't been around to ask. Honestly, I've been trying to get up to speed on my charms and haven't had time for a deeper look."

            "Scrolls and prophecies?" Ron asked. "Why do I think we'll be spending a bunch of time in the library." He sounded resigned to it.

            "As usual," Harry added, though he actually felt excited by the prospect. Hogwarts was the first place he ever thought of as home, and going back would be wonderful. Even if going back meant ominous signs, mortal peril, and the rise of overwhelming evil.

            Which, he admitted mentally, it usually did.

            The boat ride awed Willow and Dawn.

            "That," Willow commented as the darkened outline of the castle came into view, "is exactly how it's supposed to look. We took a carriage up in the day before, and it looked way different."

            "Definitely. It's like a giant fairy tale."

            "Wait 'til you see the inside," Harry assured her. "The castle seems almost alive sometimes. I think it's probably the coolest place on earth."

            "You went here for seven years, right?"

            "I did. Gryffindor '98. Depending, I guess, on how you look at it, mine were some of the best years in Hogwarts history to be here."

            "Sounds like you miss it," Willow said.

            He nodded. "I do. Lots of good things happened here." He glanced at the other boat, where Hermione had unconsciously snuggled into the crook of Ron's arm in the cool night. From Ron's rigid stance, he could tell his friend wasn't feeling quite as casual about the contact. "Lots of good things. It was my first real home."

            Dawn thought of Revello Drive as the boat propelled itself into the dock. "Did you ever think you'd be able to come back?"

            "I've been back to visit loads of times. It was never quite the same, though. Living here again … it'll be nice."

            The boats docked soundlessly; Willow and Dawn clambered out of the boat, with Harry floating behind them onto the grass. Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid disembarked from the other one, and the six of them made their way inside.

            "I'll leave yeh here. I 'spect you three know the way ter Dumbledore's office. Password's 'Curly Wurly' these days. 'E wants yeh ter go straight up. Don' be strangers, now," he added, patting Dawn on the head and disappearing back into the night.

            "He's such a sweetie," Willow said when Hagrid had gone.

            "Hagrid's the best," Harry agreed. To Dawn he added, "his classes are always right interesting, too."

            "Care of Magical Creatures? Is that like feeding dragons and stuff?"

            "Not if you're lucky," Ron muttered. 

Hermione elbowed him in the chest. "Believe me, Dawn, no one is more fond of magical creatures than Hagrid. Dragons in particular, though having one is very illegal. Now come, we'd best get to Professor Dumbledore's office without delay."

            The three Gryffindors led the way, taking Willow and Dawn through a maze of halls and corridors that left the girls wondering if they would ever find their way around.

            "Uh, Willow?"

            "Yeah, Dawnie?" They were walking through a particularly long line of portraits. "What's up?"

            "The paintings. They're … um … watching us. Did they do that on our last visit?"

            "Trust me, Dawnie, that's a trick of the light."

            Dawn pointed to a painting of an elderly tea party; three proper English ladies were very definitely watching them. One of them took a sip of tea, and Willow stopped in her tracks.

            "That's no trick of the light."

            "Something wrong?" Hermione asked as she, Ron and Harry skidded to a halt.

            "The-the paintings …?"

            "Oh," she said, realizing the problem, "yes, they move. Wizard paintings are semi-sentient, much like wizard pictures. Part of the magic used to create them, you see."

            Willow and Dawn raised their eyebrows and traded an incredulous look.

            "Oh, sure, of course," Willow said. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Living paintings. Right."

            Hermione smiled and led them deeper into Hogwarts, stopping again only when they reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.

            "Curly Wurly," she said. Willow oohed appreciatively as the stairwell unfurled itself. They ascended to the Headmaster's office with Harry floating up slowly in the rear.

            Harry hadn't expected Dumbledore to be alone, and he wasn't. Before they could greet his other guests, however, Fawkes leaped off his perch with a squawk and glided onto the armrest of Harry's wheelchair.

            "'Lo, Fawkes," Harry said as the phoenix nipped his ear affectionately. He stroked Fawkes' head in return. "Miss me?"

            To Dawn's great surprise, the bird keened a distinctly affirmative note.

            "Me too. But I'm back for awhile, now, alright?" Fawkes laid his head on Harry's arm. "Dawn, come here."

            She tentatively stepped closer.

            "This is Fawkes. He's Professor Dumbledore's phoenix. Touch him lightly on his throat, right below the beak. He loves that."

            She did, and Fawkes crooned affectionately. He nipped her hand, and Dawn had the strangest feeling that she had just made a powerful friend.

            "You've come on an excellent day, Miss Summers. He's looking rather his best," Dumbledore said from across the room. She giggled as Fawkes lifted his head and preened.

            "He's really smart, huh?"

            "The phoenix is an extraordinarily intelligent breed, yes. It makes them quite a bit of fun to have about, though I am beginning to think he believes that I inhabit his office, rather than the reverse."

            Harry finally looked up at Dumbledore and wheeled himself further into the room. "Hello, Professor."

            "Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said with a kind smile, coming over to shake Harry's hand, and then Ron's. "Mister Weasley, nice to see you again, as well. I believe you two know my other guests, though I'm certain Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers do not. Welcome, both of you."

            "Hello, Professor."

            "Hi, Professor."

            Two other figures turned to face them, one with a friendly look and the other appearing distinctly the opposite. Minerva McGonagall, her hat put aside and grayish-brown hair in a tight bun, came over and took first Harry's hand, then Ron's.

            "Hello, boys. How are you?" She had a look of concern on her face that Harry had only seen once before: the night he, Ron, and Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place from the disastrous first raid on Voldemort's castle, where Remus Lupin had nearly died.

            "As well as you'd expect, Professor," Harry said for them both, touched by her concern. Most of the students believed McGonagall to be entirely without feelings, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew differently. "It's been a hard month, but … we're adjusting."

            "Could be worse," Ron chipped in, a pained smile on his face. "Least we had somewhere to go an' be useful while we heal. Thanks for the flowers, by the way; mum thought yours grand enough that she made me keep them on display in the kitchen."

            "You're quite welcome, Ron. I wish I could have visited, but … I'm just glad you two are alive. When I think what might have happened … well, it doesn't matter. Welcome back to Hogwarts." She turned to Willow and Dawn to avoid being overwhelmed by her emotions. "You must be our newest Professor," she said to Willow. "Professor Dumbledore has great things to say about you, young lady. My name is Minerva McGonagall. I teach transfiguration."

            She and Willow shook hands; the woman had a firm, dry grip, and Willow's first thought was _She-Giles_. Comforted, she gave McGonagall a warm smile in return.

            "And Miss Summers, I presume?"

            "Yes, ma'am," Dawn said politely.

            "Albus believes you will prove most adept at the magical arts. We shall be seeing quite a lot of each other, I think." McGonagall's eyes twinkled above her smile and she backed away, leaving Harry a clear view of he room's other occupant.

            "Mr. Potter," Severus Snape drawled. Harry noticed his black hair was now flecked with gray. "Our new celebrity." His lips curled slightly, the Snape version of a wide grin. "Please, don't get up."

Willow, Hermione, and Ron gasped. McGonagall turned a withering glare on Snape. Even Dumbledore looked displeased. 

Harry shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. The others were aghast, but Harry understood that Snape was simply being Snape. He knew that this was as close as the Potions Master could come to being friendly to him, even years after they had made their peace. It also let Harry know, in no small way, that he really was home.

            Unfortunately, Dawn didn't know anything about that.

            "Who the hell do you think you are?" She shouted, jumping in front of Harry's chair before Ron, his reflexes slowed by the bandaged arm, could grab her. "That's about the meanest thing I think I've ever heard anyone say, which is saying something, because I spent just about forever with Spike. How dare you?"

            Snape's black eyes raked Dawn. "And you are?" He asked coldly.

            "Dawn Summers." She crossed her arms indignantly.

            "I see. And you're a student?"

            "I am. I'm not answering the other eighteen questions, though, until you apologize to Harry."

            "Dawn!" Harry whispered. He knew how much trouble she was heading for, even if she didn't. He looked over at Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling as he watched Dawn and Snape face off. "Let it go!"

            She ignored him, fixing Snape with a harsh glare.

            "Apologize? I think not."

            "It might be a good idea, Professor …"

            "Snape," Ron whispered to Willow.

            "… Professor Snape. Dawn will have no problem standing there all night until you do." Ron could tell Willow didn't like Snape any more than Dawn. It almost made him smile.

            "I think this has gone far enough, Severus. Don't you? Perhaps just a minor retraction," Dumbledore said, his voice filled with mirth. "After all, Miss Summers has yet to be acquainted with your … style. It's an honest mistake."

            Snape grumbled, then looked angrily at Dawn. "Potter and I have known each other for sometime, young lady. I assure you he's more adept at defending himself than he ever was at potions."

            "That's an apology?" Willow whispered to Ron, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes.

            "I can't believe she got that much," he responded in disbelief.

            "Dawn, let it go. Please?"

            She turned to Harry, whose eyes pleaded with her to step back.

            "Fine," she said, stepping back. Her eyes never left Snape, matching his angry glare inch for inch.

            "Well, now that we've exchanged all the necessary pleasantries, perhaps we might get down to business?" Dumbledore asked innocently.

            The others just stared at him.


	5. Problems

Something went bump in the night.

            Harry's chair floated several inches above the rooftop. He whirled it around, his wand leveled at the threat.

            "Hold it!"

            "EEP!" 

His voice fiercely startled Willow; her hands automatically flew up in front of her, igniting a shield of magical energy that crackled purple in the dark night sky.

            "Willow?" Harry lowered his wand. "Sorry. Didn't mean to … well, sorry."

            "Jeez. Hello cardiac unit. Do they even have one of those here? Yikes." She waved her hand, ending the shield spell, and crossed to his edge of the roof. "Somebody's paranoid."

            "Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you."

            "I'm fine, but wow. You don't mess around, huh?"

            "Old habits. There isn't much need for it anymore, truthfully, but when Alastor teaches you something, you don't forget it."

            "Alastor?"

            "Alastor Moody. He taught me a lot of what I know about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most people called him Mad-Eye, 'cos he had this magical eye that could see through anything. He was an auror."

            "Was?"

            "He died two years ago."

            "Oh. I'm sorry. I guess it isn't a safe line of work, huh?" _Good move, Will. Talk to him about his teacher's death. Fabulous_, she thought.

            "Actually, it was cancer that got him in the end, not a dark wizard or anything." Harry let out a small smile, thinking of Moody taking potions from special flasks and absolutely refusing anything not prepared by handpicked Ministry wizards. Mad-Eye Moody had probably been the worst patient in St. Mungo's history.

"He taught paranoia?" 

            "That's a fair description. His motto was 'Constant Vigilance.' He had … eccentric habits because he put a lot dark wizards away, y'know? Always thought there was a threat in every corner.

            "Oh. Well, I'm not a threat. Right now, anyway. Which is good, because I prefer non-threatening Willow to … well, to the other versions, I guess." She stopped her babble just in time. She had no desire to explain her bout with armageddon to Harry.

            "Me too, I think," Harry said, half in jest. He hadn't acclimated to Willow's odd way of speaking, and he wanted to tread lightly. "What brings you up here?"

            "Large thoughts and clear air."

            "Sounds familiar. What'd you think of what Dumbledore had to say?"

            "Sounds big. Very big-sounding. Thus with the large thoughts. I kinda figured it would be, though, if he came to us for help."

            "It's a bit more than I had planned for the fall, that's for sure. D'you think Dawn is up for it? There'll be a lot of pressure on her."

            Willow hoisted herself up onto a brick outcropping next to him and looked out over the darkened grounds.

            "I think she'll do great. You don't know Buffy, but she and Dawn are so alike, and Buffy's the most amazing person I've ever known. I'd trust Dawn with my life."

            "You may have to. If one of the students can really get this goddess to grant them wishes or some such, we could be in a lot of trouble."

            "Dawn's been through a lot the past few years, Harry. She'll do what's asked of her and a lot more if she has to. You'll see." Two sets of green eyes locked, and Willow admitted something she had been holding in since meeting Dumbledore on the train. "It's the rest of us I'm more worried about."

            "The rest of us?" Harry regarded her thoughtfully. "Well, you don't know any of us, so that's understandable, but we'll be fine. We've been through much worse than a rogue student."

            "Voldemort?"

Harry nodded. "I don't think I explained it enough on the train. Not if you're still wondering about what we wizards can do."

            "Actually …"

            "What?"

            "Well, I kinda meant …" She glanced at his eyes as she trailed off. He appeared genuinely interested; there was something about him that seemed to be inviting her to talk. She tossed caution to the wind. "I kinda was talking more about me than you guys. Yeah, okay, I don't know you well, but I'm sure you guys are all Sinatra-esque and everything, especially from what Giles has said. And Voldemort's uber-badness is well-established."

            "Sinatra-esque?"

            "He's a muggle singer."

            "I know – I still don't get it."

            "Cream of the crop? Top of the heap?"

            Harry laughed aloud. "Right, then, I suppose we are. But you are too, according to Dumbledore."

            Her eyes clouded. "Can I trust you with something? A-a-about me?" 

            "Of course."

            "I don't always … see, my magic, it's … sometimes Willow and the spellcasting don't mix as well as they should. I don't like to tap too much power because I kinda have a lot andsometimesittriestoeatme," she finished in a rush.

            "Hang on – your magic tries to eat you?" Harry looked confused. "How?"

            "Have you ever done magic without a wand?"

            "No."

            "For most people who don't use one, it's pretty simple. You mix the goop, you say the words, and the power that's around you comes through as a spell."

            "Sounds familiar."

            "Right. For me, that's not so much what it's like. It's more like … some different thing. Have you been to the beach ever?"

The intense look in her eyes surprised him. _Whatever's got her all knotted_, he thought, _it's something huge_.

            "A'course."

            "When I cast a spell, any spell, it's like I'm standing knee-deep in the ocean with a little yellow bucket, and I'm trying to fill it with water, except the waves are, like, eight feet high and drowning me and I have to swim for the shore or get sucked under. Except that makes no sense, because I said the water was knee deep, but all analogies are partial, right? Oh, sorry, I'm babbling. I do that sometimes and then I can't stop, kind of like now."

            Harry wanted to say that her babbling was adorable, which he thought it was, but he killed the sentence before it even formed. Where had that come from? Not only was Willow his boss, but he was stuck in this damn chair. His priority was getting out of it, not thinking distracting thoughts about the Dark Arts professor. 

"It's okay. I think I understand," he said instead. She had the most wounded look on her face, and he needed to do something to remove it. "Can I ask one question, though?" 

            "Sure."

            "Why's the bucket yellow?"

            The nervous giggle bubbled up from her chest, spilling musically into the night air.

            "I dunno. I just thought of the beach and there I was with my little yellow bucket."

            "I don't suppose I can argue with that. As for the other thing, well, I promise I won't let your magic eat you while I'm around."

            He said it with such a combination of intensity and sincerity that Willow's heart leapt into her throat. People weren't supposed to talk that way about her. Not anymore. Not when they didn't know her. Kennedy had talked about her that way, but when the reality presented itself, Kennedy hadn't lasted a week.

            _Wait a minute, dummy. What are you doing, thinking about Harry and Kennedy in the same sentence? He's a co-worker, and maybe a good friend, but that's all_, she thought, clearing her head with a mental shake.

            "All right, Willow?"

            "Huh? Oh. Sorry. Spacey Willow makes an appearance on the rooftop. I was just thinking more big thoughts that don't need to be thought. But thank you. For not letting my magic eat me, I mean. Or wanting to not let it eat me – the actual process is pretty complicated."

            Harry blinked rapidly, trying to catch up with her. This had her really upset. More than he had realized.

            "I didn't mean to make your large thoughts larger. You need to stop thinking them, okay? When the trouble comes, if it comes, we'll handle. It's what we do, Ron and Hermione and I. Professor Dumbledore's done it for decades. There's others, too, more than you can imagine, and they've all got talent. The network that stopped Voldemort faded away, but it didn't vanish. Whatever it takes, we'll do. I swear."

Then he smiled. An intense but friendly smile, and Willow let herself relax. He seemed so confident. In a very real way, it was like talking to Buffy – the same conviction, the same feeling of power.

            The same sense that she was talking to a true hero.

            "Okay. I'll try and calm down until the trouble starts."

"Good. Now listen, I dunno about you, but I'm a bit peckish."

            Willow interrupted him with a loud laugh.

            "Something funny?"

            "Just … peckish. I didn't know people who weren't Spike said that. Yeah, okay, he was talking about blood, but still."

            "Peckish for blood?"

            "Spike is … was a vampire. A good one, though, well, for a little while anyway. He died awhile back, fighting the First."

            "Right," Harry said, stretching the word out and raising an eyebrow. "Anyhow, d'you like pastries? 'Cos I've got this friend in the kitchens who makes great ones. Her name's Winky."

            "What kind of a name is Winky?"

            "She's a house elf."

            "A what?"

            "Come on," he chuckled, "I'll introduce you. She's a great cook, now that she's kicked her butterbeer habit."

            "Butterbeer habit?"

            The first weeks at Hogwarts would always be a blur for Willow and Dawn. They bounced around from meeting to meeting, letting the other Professors acquaint them with the study of magic at Hogwarts. Willow had never known that magical education could be so formal. For once, she felt quite impressed with herself; her own studies had been a thorough grounding in the core Hogwarts curriculum, even though she hadn't meant to organize it that way. Dumbledore arranged for her to be tested in each of the major subjects, both to acquaint her with her new wand and to let her see just what Hogwarts would be all about.

            That had occupied the first three days. She performed brilliantly. The biggest surprise was how much the wand made things easier for her. Complex charms came naturally, even as the wand allowed her to perform things like locator spells without tapping more than a fraction of her power. Evil Willow seemed very far away, and Willow began to enjoy working her magic again. _Just like everyone here does_, she realized one day.

            Dawn's crash course went nearly as well. She had spent years watching Willow and Tara; the basic precepts of spellcasting came very easily to her. Except for Snape, who seemed determined to prove that she would never mix any worthwhile potions, the professors were all amazed at her rapid progress through simple magics. Professor Flitwick got so excited when she summoned a Quaffle across his classroom that he toppled off his desk in a squeaking, clapping heap.

            She really liked him.

            The rest of the month went similarly. Two days before the start of school, Albus Dumbledore was reclining in his desk chair, staring at the images of Willow and Dawn floating by in the pensieve in front of him. His discreet observation of them had reaffirmed his initial impression: they were both intelligent, driven, and quite talented.

            He was feeling quite pleased with his decision to hire them when he heard a soft knock at the door.

            "Come in."

            Ron entered first, holding the door open so Harry could maneuver his chair through.

            "Evening, Professor," Ron said.

            "You wished to see us, sir?"

            "Yes, Harry, I did. You needn't be so formal, though. Please, Ron, sit," he gestured to the plush chair facing his desk, which Ron took. Harry pulled even with him and watched Dumbledore expectantly. He held out a bowl of gray-white candies. "Bullseye?"

            Harry declined, but Ron took one and popped it into his mouth.

            "That's excellent. Minty, eh?"

            "Indeed. I seem to have a craving for them these days. I must remember to ask Miss Rosenberg if she knows a decent muggle sweet shop in London." He smiled and took a candy himself. "The one I go to normally took a most unfortunate turn this spring and closed its doors. My supplies are almost depleted." He popped one into his mouth. "Now, you're no doubt wondering if I've summoned you to discuss the progress of Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers. I have not. They are doing quite well, don't you think?"

            "Very well," Harry agreed. "Though Dawn and Snape sure will have an interesting year."

            "You'd think the git would mellow with age. He's got the gray hair an' everythin', but he's as miserable as he was when we started."

            "Somehow, I think Miss Summers will come through it just fine. She knows she has more important issues to focus on, which is one of two reasons I asked you both to stop by. Tell me, do the two of you still possess that extraordinary map of the grounds?"

            Ron looked at Harry in shock; his friend's eyebrows were raised as well. They had forgotten that Dumbledore knew about the Marauder's Map.

            "I dug it out before we came. It still works," Harry added with a sly grin. "I wondered if it would, us being teachers and all now."

            "Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. Then he spoke in a delicate tone. "Would you be amenable to lending it to Miss Summers?"

            The request gave Harry pause. Though it was by now a thirty year-old piece of parchment, it was one of the few things of his father's that he owned.

            "I understand if you would rather not. It goes somewhat against the purpose of the document, as well. I doubt she will cause a great deal of mischief with it."

            Harry blinked several times and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Professor, I'm being a bit daft. Of course she can use it. I'm certain she'll need it before we're through."

            "Thank you, Harry. I wonder, though … perhaps the two of you and Professor Granger could get in touch with Remus and Sirius? I think it might be ideal to create a tapestry with similar properties for the Headmaster's office." He leaned forward and dropped his voice, "I must confess, I've never been quite able to understand how they circumvented the unplottable charms on Hogwarts itself. It has gnawed at me for some years, and my occasional attempts have come to naught."

            "We could do that," Ron said, amazed that Dumbledore hadn't been able to make one of his own. "I've always wanted to try an' make another one. Least I did while we were here."

            "Good, good." His face turned serious. "Now, one other matter. Hagrid came to me the other night with a most disturbing bit of news. As you are now Professors and not eleven year-olds," he added, "I believe we can put your talents to more official use. It seems he found a unicorn in the forest, quite dead, blood dripping from a wound in its neck and splashed about the corpse."

            Both Ron and Harry paled.

            "You don't think … he couldn't be … back, Professor?"

            "No. He's not back." Harry's voice rang with conviction. He had seen the bastard swallowed by his own darkness. Voldemort had gone forever.

            "I agree," Dumbledore said. "However, very few things would commit such an act. It is possible that one of his disciples has taken up residence in the Dark Forest."

            "We should flush it out, whatever it is." Harry looked down at his wheelchair. "Not that I'm in much shape for it."

            "Me either," Ron said dejectedly, waving his arm.

            "You can wield a wand, Harry, and you as well, Ron. I want the two of you to take Professors Granger and Rosenberg with you. Find out what killed the unicorn and rid the forest of it." 

            They traded an uncertain look.

"I suppose I could owl Draco for help. He seemed most put out that I hadn't invited him to teach here this year."

            Ron flushed. "Professor, I don't care if they cut our bloody arms off, we'd still be better to deal with it than Malfoy any day."

            "I wasn't implying otherwise, Ron, but given your injuries, it would be understandable if …"

            "We'll do it, Professor," Harry cut him off. His voice was intense. "We're injured, not dead." Ron nodded his agreement.

            "Very well," Dumbledore said. He thanked and then dismissed the grimly-determined pair with a cursory good luck. When they had gone, he let his restrained smile flow over his face.

            "I know that, Harry. And if I have my way, you will certainly know it as well."


	6. Sorted

           The ball of ice in Dawn's stomach kept expanding, even though the corridors of the school felt very warm..

           She knew she shouldn't be nervous. She had learned everything she needed to know about the sorting and the houses. Hermione had explained things to her several times. She had been over the relevant passages in _Hogwarts: A History_, _Magical Institutions of Europe_, and _The Compendium of Wizard Education_. She had discussed it with Professor Flitwick, who cheered her up by so desperately wanting her in Ravenclaw.

           Her fear, she decided early on, really had two pieces. The first was natural: once she was sorted, her assignment began in earnest. She needed to meet people as quickly as possible. That way, when Willow deciphered the prophecy Dawn would be able to pinpoint likely candidates very early.

           The second was much worse: what if she landed in Slytherin?

           Snape hated her. She hated Snape. Placement in his house would make the year one torture after another, no matter what her real assignment might be. The Potions Master was the most surly man she had ever met, entirely without a sense of humor or even a spark of friendliness. Coming to Harry's defense had been a major error, as Harry himself explained soon after. Not that she wouldn't do it again. She'd rather be on Harry's side than Snape's any day.

           Unfortunately, Slytherin was the most likely house for someone with world of darkness delusions.

           With that cheerful thought in mind, Dawn propped herself against the wall just inside the dining hall. The train had pulled up only thirty minutes earlier; none of the students had entered yet, but most of the faculty had gathered at the head table already. Willow half-stood to wave at her, and Harry and Ron offered reassuring smiles.

           She didn't have to wait very long. A stampede of students burst through the doors and fanned out to the tables for their respective houses. The house decorations and floating candles looked splendid. Professor Dumbledore had explained that the opening night was his favorite of the year, and the rush of excitement emanating from the student body made her see why.

           When everyone had taken their seats, McGonagall led the double line of first-years down the center aisle. They looked as nervous as Dawn felt, which perversely made her feel a little better. As ordered, she took a place at the end of the line. The last student, a tiny first-year girl with brown hair to her waist, looked up in awe with huge blue eyes.

           "Your s'posed ta be at the tables," she whispered in a voice no bigger than her.

           "It's okay. I'm new, too." Dawn smiled. "Are you scared?"

           The girl nodded vigorously.

           "Don't be, sweetie. See the professor with the bushy brown hair?" Dawn gestured to Hermione. "She's a friend of mine, and she told me all about it. It doesn't even hurt."

           "You sure?"

           "Uh huh."

           "Okay." The girl showed brilliant white teeth. "My name's Marisa. What's yours?"

           "I'm Dawn." She looked up; the Sorting Hat was finishing its song. "Okay, Marisa. Time to shine."

           Marisa smiled again, then turned back to wait for her name to be called.

           McGonagall ran through the list rapidly. Every first year seemed very nervous at the start and very relieved by the time they reached their tables. Dawn couldn't help thinking how cute they were. She really hoped none of them was looking to invoke Dumbledore's goddess.

           After a short few minutes, Dawn heard McGonagall call "Zahn, Marisa" and saw the tiny slip of a girl sorted into Gryffindor. _Okay_, she thought, _come on Dawn. Here goes. Buffy wouldn't be scared of a stupid hat, would she? Heck, no._

Just as she geared up to move forward, Dumbledore's voice shattered her reverie.

           "Ah yes, good evening, good evening. Welcome, all of you, new and old, old and new, or even those like me, who are simply old." A titter passed through the crowd, though many of them stared with open curiosity at Dawn still standing in the center aisle. "Before we feast and you graciously lend your ears to another year's worth of my prattle, allow me to explain why there is a lovely young lady standing in the center of our feast." Dawn flushed bright red. "The young lady is Miss Dawn Summers, late of Sunnydale, California. Miss Summers discovered her magical talents only very recently. She has spent the summer catching up, as it were, and will be joining us for what would be her seventh year at Hogwarts. I would ask that you be patient with her, as this is her first experience in the Wizarding world."

           _Nothing like blending in_, she thought, wishing they had sorted her in Dumbledore's office as Hermione had suggested.

"As with all of us, she first needs to be sorted before her education can begin. Dawn? If you would be so kind as to take up the Sorting Hat, please."

           She gulped and walked slowly to the stool. Every eye in the room followed her and the accompanying whispers were not, in her opinion, very whispery. She perched herself on the stool, carefully rearranging her black robes, and slid her head into the hat.

           "Ah, yes. Much potential here. Talent to be a great witch. Talent must always be put to use, and I see you've chosen noble uses for yours. Plenty of well-worn courage and confidence, too, eh? Brains also, knowledge aplenty and the thirst to learn. Were it up to me you would be a fine Gryffindor, a champion of that noble house."

           _Oh no_, Dawn thought, a picture of a snarling Snape appearing in her head. _It is up to you. It's so up to you. Don't do this, don't do this, don't …_

           "But it is not, for I know the one you seek. To find that one you must be in …"

           Aloud, it shouted "Slytherin!"

           Ron spit pumpkin juice all over the table.

           Hermione gasped, first at the announcement and then at Ron.

           "Oh, Dawnie," Willow whispered.

Harry shook his head grimly. "That's not good."

Looking stunned, Dawn made her way to the Slytherin table. The strange looks and glares that greeted her were not at all friendly.

           Willow risked a glance at Snape. A small muscle in his jaw seemed to be twitching. She knew that wasn't a good sign.

           "There's no way Dawn got sorted there on her own," Harry said to Willow, leaning close to her ear. "The sorting hat's got some weird things going on. It knows things. I bet anything that it put her there because of the mission."

           "The hat knows things?"

           "Uh huh."

           "This place is of the weird, you know that, right?"

           "Sometimes, I'm very glad for it. Other times?" He shrugged. "Less so. She'll be alright, though. Snape's easier on his own house."

           "Slytherin, though. Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Don't," he said to Hermione, whose mouth was half open to warn him about his language, "'cos now's a perfect time to say bloody hell."

           Further down the table, Snape's jaw kept twitching.

           Willow, Ron, Harry, and Hermione watched the last of the students file out after the meal. Dawn looked so miserable that Willow had to resist the urge to sprint across the floor and give her a hug. She made a mental note to owl Buffy and Giles and get them to send Dawn care packages. Cookies might help.

           "So," Harry said, snapping her reverie, "we should get this done tonight, right?"

           "Better to get the whole mess over with an' get whatever it is gone quick," Ron agreed.

           "We must stop by my quarters first," Hermione said.

           "What for?"

           "Ginny gave me something for you two, that's what for, and I think you'd like to have it."

           "What is it?"

           "I'll show you when we get there, Ron."

           "Jus' tell us, 'Mione."

"No. Now come on."

           Ron badgered her for the whole walk. Hermione steadfastly refused to tell him what the surprise was, contenting herself with a maddening grin. Harry and Willow shared smirks behind their hands. Willow was starting to suspect that there was more between Ron and Hermione than just friendship, but she refrained from asking with them standing right there.

           Hermione, Ron, and Harry shared an alcove of three faculty suites near the Gryffindor tower. Hermione's door, the left one, featured a painting of a prim young woman bent over a writing table. She gave them an irritated look until she saw Hermione.

           "Password, my lady?"

           "Elvish welfare," she whispered. She didn't want Harry and Ron to hear it and give her their normal dose of grief. The door swung open and she led them inside.

           "Cor, Mione! What'd you do, raid the restricted section?" Ron said as they entered, gaping as his eyes scanned the room.

           Every possible surface had been crammed with books. All the volumes rested in neat stacks on their various tables and couches, but the room held an ocean of paper. Harry parked his chair in the doorway, knowing he lacked the finesse to roll in without knocking anything over.

           "Wow. Even Giles' apartment wasn't this full," Willow said. "You're research gal, huh?"

           "I like to be able to find things if I need to," Hermione said, slightly embarrassed. "Wait here. I'll get what I need from my bedroom." She disappeared through another door in the far wall.

           "This is so cool!" Willow said, browsing through the titles stacked on the couch. Ron couldn't find a seat. He settled for leaning between the door and the arm of Harry's chair. It was a tight fit.

           "D'you mind, Ron? We're good friends, but this chair is built for one, y'know?"

           "Sorry. Jus' tryin' not to fall over," Ron said, standing back up and leaning on the door frame. "You're big into books, too?" He asked Willow.

           "Yeah," she answered absently. "We don't have stuff like this at the Council. Look at this one: _Prophecies and Portents: A Linguist's Guide_. I wonder…" She gingerly removed it from the stack and started thumbing through.

           "We should compare that one to the scroll," Hermione said, coming back into the room with three packages wrapped in brown paper. "It might have some similarities in grammar usage, or possibly a phonetic association that could …"

           "Mione, please," Ron cut her off. "We've got enough to do tonight without you doin' the know-it-all bit."

           Hermione frowned. Her brown eyes suddenly looked quite sad.

           Ron didn't notice until Harry jabbed him with an elbow. Then he saw the look.

           "Ah, geez, I'm sorry, Mione, I didn't mean anythin' by it. I just meant that we can talk prophecy later. We have to talk Death Eater now, okay?"

           She nodded, but the sadness didn't leave her eyes. Ron wanted to kick himself. Why did he always have to go and say dumb stuff like that to her?

           "Here," she said softly, "from Ginny." She tossed both Ron and Harry a package and kept one for herself.

           "Are these what I think they are?" Harry asked.

           "Yes." She looked at Willow. "Could you step out for a minute? We just need to throw these on and then we can go."

           Willow nodded. Harry backed into the hall to let her by, then rolled into the room and shut the door.

Willow could hardly believe it was the same three people.

           They had donned utilitarian robes colored a very dark red. Capes dyed an equally dark shade of blue hung from their shoulders, clasped at the neck by a small gold talisman with an engraving she hadn't been able to see. Even with Harry in his chair and the bulky bandage on Ron's arm peeking through, they bore an unmistakable air of power.

           She suddenly had no trouble believing that the three people with her could handle any threat that came their way.

           As they strode towards the forest, she tried to discreetly glance at the engraving on Harry's clasp.

           "It's a lightning bolt," he said without looking at her.

           Embarrassed, she quickly turned away. At least it was dark and he couldn't see the blush.

           "I was being that obvious, huh?"

           "A bit, yeah."

           "Is it because of your scar?"

           "Something like that." He sounded distracted, and his eyes never the left the dark line of the forest ahead of them.

           "It's a bit of a tale," Hermione added. "The symbol on the clasp of an auror's cloak denotes his or her brotherhood. It's rather like the houses here at Hogwarts, in a sense, though there are actually six brotherhoods, and you need to serve for a decade to join one."

           "And you guys are what, the Brotherhood of the Lightning Bolt or something?" Willow could see the small bolt on Hermione's clasp as well.

           "Not exactly," Ron said, chuckling.

           "Being retired, we aren't in any of the brotherhoods. We also didn't serve long enough to be inducted in the first place." 

           "So what's with the lightning?"

           "D'you remember what we said about the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked, his eyes still on the approaching trees.

           "Uh huh."

           "We weren't always in the Order."

           "Told us we were too young," Ron said. "Shows what they know."

           "We were too young," Hermione said. When Harry and Ron both looked at her with disgust, she amended, "or at least we weren't ready at the start. Anyway," she turned to Willow, "when they wouldn't let us into the Order of the Phoenix at first, these two decided they would form their own group."

           "And that was in no way dangerous," Willow said, shaking her head. "Not that I can really point fingers, since I was probably about to date robots and hunt vampires at that point, but still."

           "Date robots?" Ron's eyebrows rose.

           "Not important, not important. You were saying about the … uh … oh, yeah, Order of the Phoenix and the clasps?" She flushed red again; in the moonlight, Harry noticed and restrained a grin.

           "Well," Hermione went on, "as I said, they decided to begin their own order, the Order of Lightning. I made these clasps later, during auror training. Normally trainees and younger aurors wear plain ones, but I decided it would be a nice remembrance. Every member of the Order of Lightning wore them until we left. Ginny's still got hers, and she made some new ones for us. She sent them with these cloaks," she added, fingering her dark blue cape. "I guess Professor Dumbledore briefed her and Draco on the prophecy in case we needed official auror help."

           "That was sweet of her," Willow said with a smile.

           "Ginny's the best," Ron agreed. Then he grimaced. "How she ever ended up with a pillock like Malfoy for a partner, I have no bloody clue."

           "Oh, Ron, please. It's been years since they started working together. If you gave Draco a chance for once …"

           "Thank god it's just workin'," Ron broke in. "Mum thought they were dating last year, remember that, Harry? I'd've killed him myself."

           "I remember. Just because you've forgiven him, Hermione, doesn't mean we have to. Good guy or not, the ferret is still a ruddy prat," Harry replied.

           Ron nodded solemnly. Hermione met Willow's eyes and shook her head in exasperation, which set the redhead chuckling. This Draco Malfoy must be a piece of work. She would have to meet him sometime.

           They walked the rest of the way to the tree line in silence. When they reached the shadow of the tall oaks, the hairs on the back of Willow's neck stood up. The evil in the forest seemed to call out to her; she could feel her magic rising involuntarily. Her stomach knotted as she started to panic.

           "All right, Willow?" Harry asked. The redhead had gone stiff the moment they entered the forest.

           "So very not. This place … this is an evil place." She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. A moment of focus brought her magic back under tight control. 

           "They don't call it the Dark Forest for nothin'." Hermione glared at Ron. "What? Jus' saying it's bad, alright."

           "You can head back in if you want," Harry said as Willow opened her eyes. "We can handle whatever's in there."

           "N-no. Professor Dumbledore wanted me to go with you. Besides, if I ran away every time I got the wig from my magic, I'd be … something not very good, I guess. You know what I mean."

           Harry nodded. "If that's how you feel. But don't stay on our account."

           "We can handle it," Ron said.

           "Uh uh," she said, shaking her head, "I'm way in. Period." The conviction she forced into her force was as much for her as it was for them.

           "Okay." Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. "Dumbledore told me where the unicorn was found. At the south end, where we are now, and not too deep. We should got to the spot, then do a sweep around. If … whatever did this is still hanging about, they'll probably be close by."

           "We don't … think it's Voldemort, do we Harry?" Hermione asked.

           "I sure as hell don't."

           "Me either," Ron said, though he sounded less than convinced and gulped audibly at the end of the sentence.

           "Isn't he dead?" Willow asked.

           "He is. His followers make trouble, though, and this is a direct challenge to the three of us and Dumbledore. Makes it likely that it's a Death Eater," Harry answered. They had already briefed Willow on Voldemort's unicorn attacks.

           "Pairs?" Ron asked.

           "Yeah. I'll go with Willow. You guys lead off – this stupid thing," he gestured at the wheelchair, "makes it slow going."

           "Be careful, Harry," Hermione said with concern. She and Ron turned and made their way into the forest with drawn wands.

           "Harry, how are you going to … oh, right, the Professor X thing," Willow said as Harry's chair lifted a few inches above the ground.

           "Who?"

           "Professor X? Bald guy, floating chair? From the X-men?"

           "Sorry."

           "I guess people who don't grow up with Xander don't know this stuff automatically."

           "Guess not." He gave her a puzzled expression, then led her after his two friends. This late at night, the moon barely penetrated the treetops. Darkness closed in around them like a blanket. After a few seconds of that, Willow tried a light spell, but Harry stopped her. He wanted to avoid giving their position away too soon. They moved in total silence for ten minutes before they heard Hermione's shouts.

           "Ron, look …"

           A loud crash cut her off.

           "Mione! You son of a bitch! STUPEFY!"

           "Come on!" Harry yelled at Willow, rocketing off towards the sound of Ron's voice. In seconds, they broke through into the clearing where the unicorn had been found. The sight so startled Harry that his concentration broke and his chair fell to the earth with a soft plop.

           Ghostly magical chains bound Hermione to one of the larger oak trees. Wandless, she was struggling to get free without success. Ron lay on the ground near her, moaning softly and clutching his injured arm. From the grimace, Harry could tell he was hurt bad.

           Icy tones pierced his brain.

           "Hello, young Potter. I see you're looking as well as the papers claimed."

           Harry's eyes widened. That voice … that voice couldn't be here, now, spilling out coldly from a tall man in a dark, hooded robe. That voice … that man was dead. Very dead.

           "The famous Harry Potter reduced to nothing more than a crippled child. The irony is delicious. I suppose that oaf finally found my calling card, and Dumbledore predictably sent you to investigate. Are you surprised to see me, Potter? Did you learn nothing before? Death is not nearly as permanent as it once was."

           Beside Harry, Willow felt him tense. She tried to relax, but evil pulsed from the dark figure like a heartbeat.

           "Harry?"

           "It can't be," he whispered, "he's dead."

           "Is it Voldemort?"

           A burst of red light erupted from the stranger's wand. It slammed into Willow's chest with the force of a speeding bullet and knocked her back into the forest.

           "You do NOT say the name of the Dark Lord, witch. You have no right.

           Hearing Willow cry out shook Harry from his reverie.

           "I do." Harry brought his wand up. "I killed the bastard. Unlike you, he has had the good sense to stay dead, Lucius."

           "You're so certain you'll best me again? I have powers you can't imagine, Potter."

           Harry decided instantly to skip the banter. Malfoy was too dangerous for that. "IMPEDIMENTA!"

           He blocked Harry's spell and grinned beneath his hood.

           "I think not. PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

           Harry tried to block, but with the chair under him he couldn't get his position quite correct. As the spell hit him, he cursed his stupidity at not practicing dueling since landing in the chair. His body froze in place, half-spilled from his seat. He rolled the rest of the way and landed on the ground.

           Hermione and Ron both gasped.

           "Oh, please. Were I here to kill you, you would be dead already. That would be pointless. I am merely here to put you fools on notice that we have returned, and that you will suffer pain as I have suffered. Pain you can't imagine. Nothing you an do will stop us from …" He trailed off, openly staring at the figure emerging from the woods behind Harry.

           "What's the matter? Super villain speech not quite as good as you hoped?"

           Willow's voice was several octaves too low. Ron could see that her eyes were solid black. He had no idea why, but he could feel her drawing on her power. Her wand was nowhere in sight.

           "CRUCIO!" 

Willow raised a hand and waved; the spell winked out.

           "Please." She laughed haughtily. In her deeper voice, the laugh was frightening. "Sit." She waved her hand and sent him tumbling to the floor. The hood fell back, revealing a pale face covered with heavy scars and framed by long white-blond hair.

           "It is Malfoy?" Ron said. "Damn."

           "This is your sister's partner?" Willow asked, her eyes never leaving the man on the ground. She could feel him struggle as she held him with her magic.

           "Nah, this is his dad, Lucius Malfoy." Ron hauled himself up to a sitting position and raised his wand. "Thought you were dead, you Death Eater bastard."

           "Death is far from the end of things, Weasley," Malfoy hissed. Willow relaxed her grip to let him talk. They might, after all, learn something useful. "As you will soon learn, there are more powerful forces at work than mere death. MORSMORDRE!"

           A shower of green sparks cascaded from his wand into the clearing, blinding all of them. They heard an odd swishing sound, and Willow felt her grip slip away.

When Ron opened his eyes, Malfoy had vanished, leaving only his mark behind.


	7. Alarms

           "Willow?"

           Ron's stare never left her as he pulled himself to his knees and freed Hermione and Harry.

           "What?" The snarl brought three wands around, all trained on her. Her eyes stayed solid black. A small corona of dark energy hissed and popped around her hands.

           "Umm … perhaps you should calm down," Harry offered warily. He lurched the rest of the way out of the chair, dropping to the ground as his bad leg swiftly gave way.

           "I'm fine."

           "You don't look fine, lady," Ron said.

           Her right hand came up. His body followed it, rising from the ground like a windblown leaf and slamming into a huge oak tree. His wounded arm caught a knot on the bark and he crumpled to the dirt in a heap.

           "See? Fine. Everything in working order."

           "STUPEFY!" Harry and Hermione roared together. Neither knew quite what was happening, but they had been aurors long enough to know that something very dark had ahold of Willow.

           She waved her hand again, this time mumbling an inaudible word. The two spells hit an invisible barrier and reflected backwards. Hermione caught her own just below the sternum; she fell to the ground retching involuntarily as the earlier meal tried to push itself back up.

           Harry rolled, his wand already moving, and barely blocked his as it came back around.

           "Ooh, the cripple's got skills." Her eerie laughed pierced his skull like a dagger. "Let's see how many."

           For a full second, Willow and Harry locked eyes, each daring the other to go first. Her hand and his wand lifted at the exact same second.

           Neither spell went off; an external force seemed to rip the flowing spell from each of them before they could detonate."

           "I don't think so, Willow."

           Dumbledore's calm voice echoed through the vast forest.

           "Please assault Harry no further. I would very much hate to restrain you forcibly."

           "If you could, Gramps. Hard to hate what you can't do." Her gaze shifted to Dumbledore and an ugly sneer crossed her features. "Or maybe you could. How 'bout it, Albus? Wanna play too?"

           "If that's what you would like."

           "Hell, yeah. This could be fun." 

Her eyes glowed with darkness. Dumbledore watched calmly as she gathered her power.

           When she went completely rigid and fell over, he glanced at Harry and smiled.

           "I see you remember your training."

           He nodded. "Why shout the spell when you can whisper it?" His eyes stayed on Willow. "What's wrong with her?"

           "That is a very long story, Harry, and not mine to tell. Suffice to say I believe she will be fine. I'll bring her to her quarters – she'll be safe there until we free her. Please see to your companions as best you can," He gestured to Hermione, who had recovered from the stunner and was helping Ron to his feet, "and then I think someone should fetch Draco Malfoy through the floo."

           "Are you sure, sir? He did tell us that he killed Lucius, after all. His father is most certainly alive. I don't know if …"

           "Indeed, I saw the whole thing. Draco was not lying, however. I'm sure of that. I trust him as I do you, Harry."

           Harry nodded. He did, as well, though it pained him to admit it. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the younger wizard floated from the ground into his wheelchair.

           "Thank you, Professor. We'll bring Draco, and Ginny as well. We'll need all the help we can get."

           "I'll do it," Hermione said, walking over with an arm around Ron's shoulders. They both looked severely shaken. "Ron needs to see Madame Pomfrey, as do you," she told Harry sternly.

           "I'm fine, Mione, really." Ron's foot kicked a root and he stumbled; only her arm kept him from tumbling head over heels onto the floor. "A'right, maybe a short visit and some chocolate," he conceded.

           "Let's meet in Professor Rosenberg's room in an hour," Dumbledore suggested.

           The other three nodded their agreement and limped back towards the castle.

           With a rush of green flame, Hermione appeared in the fireplace of Draco's tiny flat.

           "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

           Hermione instinctively dove for the floor, feeling the heat trail of the spell as it sliced the air just above her head.

           "Hold it! It's me, Hermione," she shouted, skidding along the carpet until something hard interrupted her. A sharp pain shot down her arm.

           "Granger?" Draco's voice said in the dark.

           "Yes, Draco. Granger."

           "What are you doing here?"

           "If you turn the lights on and help me up, I'll tell you, but only the short version. We must hurry and get Ginny and before we make it back to Hogwarts."

           "Um, right." He paused, though in the dark she couldn't see what he was doing. "Give us a sec to get the lights on."

           "Sure," she said, rubbing her injured arm. "Do you always shoot people who … wait a minute. Us, Draco?"

           "_Lampas_," Draco said. Several torches lit up the single room like it was day. Behind Draco's shirtless figure, Hermione could see someone else.

           The someone else finished pulling on a nightshirt and stepped forward. Hermione gasped.

           "Least we don't need another stop," Ginny said with a weak smile. She was blushing so badly that her face was crimson. "Now, what's going on that's got you bursting into our place at three in the morning?"

           "Gin," Draco said.

           "Drake," she mimicked. "Cat's out of the bag an' darting across the floor, hon. Might as well tell her the whole truth."

           "You … you are together. Your mother was right. You live together, too?" Hermione was so stunned she could barely speak. "For how long?"

           "Three years, Granger, not that it's any of your business," Draco added. "She's been living with me for the past six months, and before you go screaming at her, I'll thank you not to judge me on how I was at bloody Hogwarts."

           Though her eyes were wide, Hermione shook her head.

           "No, of course not, Draco. You're no villain. I've known that for years."

           He nodded, his expression still guarded.

           Ginny slapped him on the arm.

           "Stop it, Draco. Hermione trusts you. She always has."

           "Why the secret?" Hermione asked.

           "Remember last year? When mum picked up on it? Ron threatened to kill him if he had laid a hand on me. And he had softened up a bit, if you recall."

           "He wouldn't have, really," Hermione said.

           "Arthur would've been a sight less understanding than Ron," Draco pointed out. "Look, Granger, we decided when we started it was for the best, until we saw where it was going, alright? I wanted Ginny to know me, not the bloody picture her family has of a mini-Lucius."

           "I see. And the remaining two years?" Hermione came to her feet and crossed her arms.

           "More like two and a half," Ginny said. She slipped a dreamy glance at Draco, glad to finally be able to tell someone. "I knew right quick that this was it for me."

           Hermione's eyebrows rose as Draco broke into a pleased smile. The smile had a softness to it that she had never before seen in him. He leaned down and kissed Ginny lightly on the mouth.

           It only lasted a moment, but Hermione could see the truth in Ginny's words. Their connection was palpable and beautiful; for the first time in years, Hermione wished Ron was there to kiss her like that again.

           "We decided it would be better for everyone if we waited. My family is slowly accepting Draco as my partner – I figure when we feel comfortable with that, we'll tell them the rest."

           "I … I understand. I won't say anything to anyone."

           Draco's cold expression returned. He gave a slight nod. Ginny mouthed a 'thank you.' Hermione grinned widely. They seemed so happy together.

           "So," Draco said, "what's so urgent that it's got you busting in on our evening together?"

           Her grin disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she told them everything.

"Bloody. Hell."

           "Yes, Draco, I think that sums it up rather well," Dumbledore said. They were in the infirmary rather than in Willow's room as they had originally planned. Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and Harry were all with them. Dawn had also been roused from the Slytherin dorm and brought up to sit with Willow, who was currently sleeping off a sedative Madame Pomfrey had given her. The redhead's hand rested in Dawn's as Dumbledore explained the situation to Draco again.

           "We'll have to start an official inquiry tomorrow," Ginny said. "That way we can shuffle …"

           Draco cut her off. "No."

           "What? What d'you mean, no?"

           "Think about it, Ginny," Harry said. "Lucius is back. The Death Eater network is probably still functional. We'd be risking a leak."

           "No way," Ron said, shaking his head. "No way, Harry. We took those bastards apart piece by piece. There's sod all left of 'em."

           "So what you're suggesting," Hermione said, "is that we continue with what Professor Dumbledore started by going to the Watchers. We revive and expand the Order of the Phoenix?"

           "Seems a bit drastic, Mione," Ron said. "It's one guy."

           "The 'one guy' is the Order of Bastard, First Class," Draco said. He seemed to be staring out the window at nothing. "But none of that is what I meant. What I meant is what I said: no official inquiry from us, Ginny. I'll take a leave instead."

           "What?"

           He turned to look at her, his face looking strangely haunted. "He's my responsibility. I hunted him down before, an' I'll do it again, but I can't be dealing with other things or the auror bureaucracy. Not on this. You think Bones will let me do this? Me? Or if she does, that bastard Snyder will intervene and say no."

           "Unfortunately, I think Draco has a point," Dumbledore said quietly. "Perhaps you might try something less drastic, though, Draco. For example, you might tell them you've heard rumors of a group modeling themselves after the Death Eaters, and that you and Ginny need to reduce your caseload to look into it more deeply."

           He looked at her. "What d'you think?"

           She nodded. "That would be better. We could still use the Ministry resources, an' to be honest, Draco, Grey and O'Brien could take a bunch of our cases without a problem."

           Hermione felt a pang of sadness for them. She could tell Ginny was dying to throw her arms around Draco and hold him tight. She also, somehow, knew that Draco wanted her to, which struck Hermione as very odd indeed. She had never thought of Draco as a real person who might be affected that way. Of course, he was about to try and hunt down his own father. That probably battered his defenses something fierce.

           "I'd say we could help you," Harry said, pointing to his wheelchair, "but we're a little hindered. Besides," he gestured to Willow, "we seem to have our own problem. What was wrong with her tonight, Professor?"

           Dumbledore looked at Dawn.

           "Miss Summers? Rupert was kind enough to tell me the whole story, but I'll leave it to you what to share with everyone else. If you feel it best not to say anything, then I would not."

           Dawn looked back and forth between Willow and the assembled group. She didn't know the creepy blonde guy or Ron's sister Ginny, but the others seemed to trust them. As for Harry, Ron, and Hermione … she decided they needed to know. She hoped Willow would agree when she woke up.

           "Okay, umm, see, here's the thing: Willow's really, really powerful."

           "We're no slouches," Draco said. "How powerful?"

           Dawn paused, thinking of the best way to describe it. "You guys know about me being the Key, right?" Everyone nodded. Dumbledore had briefed Draco and Ginny on Dawn already. "Well, back a few years ago, when Willow had maybe half the power or less than she has now, this god Glory tried to kill me. She also sort of sucked out Willow's girlfriend's sanity."

           "God?" Ginny asked.

           "She ruled this nasty hell dimension until her co-rulers gave her the boot because she was too skanky … I mean powerful," Dawn amended.

           Harry and Ron nodded to the others; they had heard this on the Hogwarts Express, except for the sanity part.

           "Wait," Harry broke in, thinking it through, "Willow's girlfriend? She's gay?"

           Draco chuckled. "Aw, was Potter in love with the little witch?"

           "Aw, are we gonna spatter Malfoy all over the infirmary walls?" Ron said rhetorically.

           "Gentlemen, please," Dumbledore said. They quieted down to a harsh glare. "Dawn?"

           "Right. Thanks. Anyway, as I was saying before being rudely interrupted by the Billy Idol wannabe, back then, Willow had less than half the power she has now. She went one on one with Glory and did some major damage. Then later she held off an entire army of knights outside a gas station."

           "And she has double that power now," Hermione said, chewing on her lower lip as she pondered. "She clearly has only marginal control over it."

           "Sometimes my power tries to eat me," Harry quoted.

           "Excuse me?" Dumbledore asked.

           "She said that to me the other night. Sometimes her power tries to eat her."

           "Sounds fantastic," Draco said sarcastically.

           "Listen, buddy, she does the best she can. She's damn good at it now, and if you say one thing about it to her when she's awake, I'll kick your pale ass all the way back to London." Dawn glared fiercely at him.

           "Thanks, Dawnie," came Willow's scratchy voice from the bed.

           "Will! You're okay!" Dawn hugged her, staring at the girl's green eyes.

           "Uh huh. If I don't get the crepe-y skin and black hair, it leaves pretty fast. Is – Is everyone okay?"

           "Everyone is fine, Willow," Dumbledore said. "How are you?"

           "Embarrassed? Yeah, I'll take Embarrassing Willow Gaffes for two hundred, Alex."

           "And the answer is …"

           "Don't you dare, Dawnie!" Dawn laughed; Willow managed a weak chuckle. Everyone else looked on with bewilderment except for Hermione, who laughed along with them. She had seen _Jeopardy_ before. "I'm really sorry, guys. I wouldn't have called that much power, but that guy was really giving off the evil vibe." She looked the group over, doing a double take when she saw Draco. "Wow, are you like the guy's son or what?"

           "I am. Draco Malfoy," he said, then pointed to Ginny. "This is my partner, Ginny Weasley."

           "Oh! Ron's sister, right? And you guys are aurors?"

           "Exactly right. Hello, Willow," Ginny said.

           "Willow?"

           "Yeah, Harry?"

           "You know the wave you told me about?" She nodded. "How much bigger is it than your yellow bucket?" Nobody understood a word he had said, except her. She understood what he wanted to know.

           "Way bigger. Let me try and make you understand better: two years ago, my … girlfriend, Tara, was … she …" Willow paused, drawing a deep breath. "She got shot and she died. I got lost in the magic. Way lost. The kind of lost where you try and end the world through force of will, and you have the power to do it."

           No one made a sound. Dawn clutched her hand tightly.

           "Wow," Ron said, trying to imagine something like that. "I still have trouble changing a cannonball into a quaffle."

           "Trust me, it's not what you would call a plus on the ol' resume," Willow said. She looked at Dumbledore. "I … I understand if you want me to leave."

           "Nonsense," he said. The entire room shifted stares from her to him. "I knew all of this before you arrived, Willow. In fact, I am well acquainted with many of the women you studied under at the coven. They all believed Hogwarts was the right place for you, and so do I."

           His tone shifted subtly, becoming warm and professorial at the same time. More than ever, his voice reminded her of freshly-sanded wood.

"All your life, you have experienced magic as part of your battle against evil. You have seen magic at its most harsh, magic that damages and destroys. Your friend Tara, who from what Rupert told me sounds as if she was an extraordinary woman, taught you, I think, that some magic exists that it is not harsh nor damaging. Unfortunately, you have never been able to develop that side of your magic. I can feel it in every spell you cast. You wrench the power from one locale to another, when in fact it is far more easily molded than wrenched. It is meant to be guided, not pulled."

           "That is what we have always taught here at Hogwarts. It is the underlying tenet for every spell cast by a Hogwarts student. All of the people you see here have learned to mold magic to their will. They have all chosen to battle the dark forces as their life's work, but they are not corrupted by what they do, no matter how much power they may use. And while none of us rivals you in raw power, I assure you, my dear, that Harry and I can both wield ten times the amount that addicted you initially."

           "You know all about me?"

           "I do. I did not just bring you here to be my Dark Arts Professor, young lady. When I asked you to come and join our community, I meant just that. You will give to us, and we will give back to you. If you are willing, I would be happy to retrain you so that you no longer need fear calling on your magic. I'm certain all of our staff would."

           "Of course," Harry said immediately.

           "Count me in," Ron agreed.

           "It should be fascinating," Hermione added.

           Fat tears dripped down Willow's face.

           "That … that would be amazing. C-can you really do it?"

           He put a hand lightly on her shoulder and smiled.

           "Haven't you heard, my dear? This is a magic school. We can do anything."


	8. Confrontations

8: Confrontations

_Willow__,_

_            You'll do wonderfully. I have all the faith in the world. My one bit of advice would be this: don't picture everyone in their underwear. It never works._

_            But seriously, as long as you take things at your own pace, everything will be fine. The lesson plans you sent looked fantastic. Stick to them, and your students will learn a great deal. And should you need help, of course, I'm always here._

_            Rupert_

Appended at the bottom of Giles' letter was a second note, this one scrawled in yellow crayon. The familiar handwriting made her smile.

_Wills,_

_            Don't eat the paste. Leave it for the kids._

_            Xander_

            Willow put the letter down and brushed the hair back out of her face with a smile. Xander always knew what to say to take the edge off. The butterflies in her stomach slowed their flapping to Warp Seven.

            "Deep breaths," she whispered behind closed eyes, "deep breaths."

            "That's the spirit." Ron's good hand clapped her on the shoulder. "Bloody nerve-wracking, eh?"

            She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Not like, y'know, an army of uber-vamps or anything, but yeah, a little."

            "Mione says the secret is remembering that you know more than they do."

            "That could be helpful," she agreed with a clipped nod.

            "'Cept for me, 'cos I don't think I do. A'course, I've got the detention power goin' for me now."

            She pursed her lips. "I'm pretty sure you have to clear those with me."

            "No way. I'm a professor. I'm all about detentions."

            "You were all about them when you were a student, as I recall," Harry said as he wheeled himself into the classroom. "Morning, Willow."

            "Hi Harry! I mean, um, good morning."

            He smiled. "You guys ready for this?"

            "Gulp."

            "I'm with Willow. How long've we got, Harry?"

            "Five minutes."

            They traded looks of horror. 

            "Okay, we shouldn't be nervous, I mean, we all went to school, right? We've been to class. And-and-and I taught one for awhile in high school, oh, but that was a computer class, not magic. Magic seems like it'd be trickier, and I don't have Miss Calendar's syllabuses – syllabi? Do you guys know which it is?"

            They met her expectant look with wide-eyed stares.

            "Um, Willow, are you – are you sure you're ready to do this? You seem a little nervous," said Harry.

            Willow blinked. Then she took a deep breath and tried to force the blood rushing around in her head to stop.

            "I guess I got into that babble a little."

            "Yeah," Ron agreed, "just a bit."

            "If you're not up for this … well, what I mean to say is, if you're not, y'know, ready after everything that happened last night, we can – I guess Ron and I could handle it."

            She smiled. "Thanks, Harry. Really. But hiding in my room is so not what needs to happen right now. I think educational Willow is the perfect remedy for this. The babbling should go away on its own." _Hopefully before class starts, she added silently._

            The boys nodded. Harry was about to respond, but the first of the first-year Gryffindors walked in.

            "Good morning!" Willow rushed out, tossing a loaded glance at Harry and Ron, who each quickly greeted their first student in turn.

            Defense Against the Dark Arts was now in session.

            "She'll hear you out, Drake."

            He grunted, his only response besides shifting more of his weight back against the wall. Most people in the Ministry thought of Draco Malfoy as a man with ice in his veins. Ginny knew differently. His face looked calm, but the possibility that he wouldn't be allowed to pursue this assignment was weighing heavily on him. She could feel the tension in him more than she could see it. He had also been snapping at her all morning.

            "Dumbledore already talked to her, and you know her, hon. She'll listen. If you don't lose your temper."

            That drew a short nod. His eyes fixed on the door to Amelia Bones' office. He knew how to handle this, but the return of his father had him tied up in knots. If Bones acted the way she normally did, he would have to be very careful. She had a nasty habit of asking just the right questions to find a reason to disagree with whatever a petitioner might be asking.

            "I know, Gin. I'm ready. Bloody waste of time, though. I still think my idea would've worked."

            "No way am I letting you resign, Draco. Even to work at Hogwarts. Besides," she added with a pout, "what'd happen to us? 'Less you wanted to tell my family jus' now."

            "That would make this week the dog's bollocks, now wouldn't it? S'not like I would've been jobless. An' we could've worked something out about your family. Sick of hidin' from them, anyway." The last sentence was a mistake; he knew it as soon as it slipped out.

            Her eyes narrowed. His contempt for her brother and her parents never failed to ignite her fury, and, as tense as Draco was, Ginny was equally upset. She didn't need him piling that on as well. 

"I'm sorry, Draco, but I'm not quite ready to come out of the closet on this. Not for your father's sake anyway. It's not like yours is the bad end of the deal. You still get some every night."

            The anger bubbled up from Draco's stomach like a geyser. Intellectually, he knew that he didn't want to start this argument again, here, now, in the hallway outside of Bones' office. He knew he could stop it right here and now, apologize, and everything would be fine. 

Unfortunately, he couldn't help himself. He was way too close to the edge already.

            "Virginia Weasley, it is NOT ABOUT MY FATHER! NOR IS IT ABOUT ME AT ALL!" He slammed his fist against the wall, driving her back a step and shaking several posters loose from their moorings. "It's about us, goddammit, about us and you and having the freedom to do whatever we bloody well please without worrying what that pillock Ron is going to do about it!"

            "Don't you call him a pillock, Draco! He's my brother, and he's only trying to protect me, which is a sight more than I can say your family does for you."

            His voice iced over. "They might not protect me, but they don't keep me from being happy."

            "No, they're too busy trying to kill you for that."

            "Maybe they are. But they haven't gotten close to knocking me off, have they? It doesn't change how I live my life, does it? But you – you're still paying rent on an apartment you don't live in, just so you don't have to face them."

            Ginny's face flushed crimson. "How dare you? I'm a coward? S'that what your sayin'? I'm not the one standin' out here shaking 'cos … no, you know what? Sod off, Draco Malfoy. I don't need to take this from you."

            She spun around and stormed off to the elevator. 

            "Damn," Draco whispered, feeling twice the idiot for yelling at Ginny and for letting his father's return get to him. "That I didn't need."

            "Mr. Malfoy," said the soft voice of Amelia's assistant from the door. She had seen the whole exchange, and he could hear the embarrassment in her voice. "Amelia will see you now."

            "Terrific," he muttered.

            "Good morning," Willow chirped again as the last kids took their seats. She leaned back against the front of her desk and offered the friendliest smile she could muster.

            None of the students said anything. Several of them scowled; she noted the green and white Slytherin patches on each of those robes. Off to Willow's left, Harry watched the crowd intently. Ron's gaze skipped nervously back and forth from the students to Willow. He had never taught before, and at the moment fervently wished he had listened harder to the wisdom Hermione had tried to impart on the subject.

            "My name is Professor Rosenberg," she lifted her right hand and extended her index finger, "and this is Defense Against the Dark Arts." In the air, she traced out her name and the letters "DADA" with the tip of her finger. Trails of white light followed it, forming the words in the air in front of her.

            She heard a half-dozen wows and a few scattered oohs and aahs.

            "So, would anyone like to tell me what you're here to learn from me this year?"

            A brown-haired girl in the back raised a wavering hand.

            "Okay … Marisa, right?" The girl nodded. "Okay, Marisa, tell me what you think."

            "We're here ta learn how ta fight bad wizards."

            Willow gave her a big smile. "Exactly right. Not all wizards are good, and some of the things we'll learn about this year have to do with them. I'm glad you brought that up, Marisa, because it's my assistants who are going to be handling the whole evil wizard slice of the Dark Arts pie." Several people giggled. "I know Professor Dumbledore introduced them yesterday, but I'll let them introduce themselves to you now."

            She looked at Ron and Harry, who were staring back at her with wide eyes. The silence lasted five seconds.

            "Guys!" Willow hissed.

            "Right," Ron began, "well, yeah, see … I'm Ron Weasley, an' this is my friend, Harry Potter."

            When he said Harry's name, the room got very quiet. Every pair of student eyes grew very wide. It hadn't sunk in the night before that Ron and Harry would actually be teaching their class all year. Every one of them knew who they were and what they had done. Even the Slytherins found their haughtiness stripped away. Their teachers' names reduced them to awe-filled eleven year-olds.

            One Gryffindor boy raised a hand slowly. Willow checked her seating chart.

            "Yes, Mark?"

            "Professor … um, Professor Potter?" Harry nodded for him to continue. "Could we … that is, could we see … d'you still have the scar, sir?"

            Harry nodded again, pulling back his bangs. Sunlight glinted off the angry red lightning bolt. "It's permanent, Mark. Doesn't go away. That's the thing, though," said Harry, meeting the boy's stare. The seriousness of Harry's expression struck Willow, just as it had in Diagon Alley. "I'm still here, and I have my scar, sure, but the guy who gave it to me? Gone. D'you know why?"

            Mark shook his head.

            "Because of what I learned in this room." Then Harry's gravity broke, and he smiled. Which, Willow decided, was a good thing, because half the class looked like they were about to bolt for the train station. "I don't think you guys will have to worry about anything like that, though. Most of what we're doing isn't even about dark wizards, right, Professor Rosenberg?"

            "Oh! Right. Exactly … Professor Potter," she added with a grin. "In fact, we aren't even going to get to any of the dark wizard stuff until the winter. We're going to start on something a little more fun. Anybody wanna guess what that is?"

            A half-dozen hands shot up, and Willow began to teach.

            "Draco. Come in and sit down." Amelia Bones waved him to the seat in front of her desk, which he took gingerly. "I spoke with Albus at length this morning. It appears they had quite the evening at the school last night."

            "Ginny and I dropped in. Everything seemed under control when we arrived."

            "Yes, it was." She stared unblinking through her monocle. "So here you are. May I assume that you are well-prepared to make your case for pursuing your father?"

            "Yes, ma'am."

            "Ever the polite aristocrat, aren't you Draco? Go ahead. Convince me."

            Draco spoke for nearly five minutes, carefully explaining the advantage his knowledge of his father would provide and expounding on his past experience hunting the man. He eventually slowed, waiting for a verbal cue from her that she had heard him. When she offered none, he simply stopped speaking.

            "You're quite finished?"

            "Yes."

            "Are you certain?"

            He nodded, aggravated. What else could he possibly say? It was all right there in front of her. He was the most qualified man for the job.

            "Then the answer is no." She dismissed him by looking back at her papers.

            "No?" The volume of his incredulous voice crept upwards.

            Her head came back up. "I'm sorry, was there something else?"

            "What d'you bloody mean, no?"

            She sighed. "I mean, Draco, that no, you are not authorized to drop your current cases and chase after your father. You are to continue with the assignments you have, and another auror will be given the task. Which portion is unclear?"

            "The reason behind that decision."

            "The reason doesn't matter. If you knew what it was, the issue would be resolved. Good day."

            He shot out of his seat like a rocket. "Fine. I quit."

            That got her attention. "What?"

            "I quit. I'll find him on my own." He spun around and went to the door. Her voice stopped him mid-step.

            "If you even think about going after him without a mandate from this office, Draco Malfoy, I will see you incarcerated faster than you could possibly blink."

            He glared at her silently.

            "Furthermore, you are not resigning. I will not allow it, not to mention what Ginny and Kingsley will do. This is why I can't let you go after him, Draco. Look at yourself. You're acting like a complete lunatic, running around shouting at your partner and banging the walls of my office, no less. That's why I can't let you do this. It is far too personal. There's a conflict of interest here."

            "No, there isn't."

            "You didn't say a single word to me during your little speech that suggested the tiniest hint of objectivity. If you had, I would have said yes."

            "Objectivity? Who gives a damn about that? You want him in jail. I want him in the damn ground. Objectivity has sod all to do with it!"

            She set her square jaw and raised her eyebrows.

            "Objectivity has everything to do with it. We are a law enforcement agency, not some carnival act. We acquit ourselves with professionalism. That is what separates us from the people we chase."

            "I agree."

            "So you see why I can't let you do this?"

            "No. I see why you need me to do this." Before she could protest further, he kept talking. "He's as dangerous a bastard as there is on this planet, now that Potter sent Voldemort to hell in a handcart. There's no one, _no one, except possibly Harry and Dumbledore, who could best him on his terms. They've got their own business to take care of." Amelia was stunned. She had never heard Draco call Harry Potter by his given name in the decade she had known them both. "He'll have all the advantages, Lucius will. He'll pick the time, the place, even the correlation of forces. Your only hope to beat him is someone who knows _in advance_ what he'll do. An' I'm the only one who does, unless you want to go out and resurrect my mum. Somehow I doubt it."_

            Draco strode across the room and flattened his palms on her desk. Then he leaned over.

            "How professional is it to lose? What's more important here: the possibility I might go round the bend a bit, or keeping alive all the people he's going to kill?"

            The eye behind the monocle looked at him closely. 

Then she nodded.

            "Bring him in. Alive, if you can."

            Draco stepped gingerly into the office he shared with Ginny. She lay sprawled in her chair, feet up on the desk and red hair completely askew. She had tossed her cloak on the old-fashioned rack in the corner and the end of a quill rested between her lips.

            She looked gorgeous.

            He stopped in the doorway to absorb the sight. Ginny let him be for thirty seconds.

            "People are gonna wonder why you won't come in to your own office if you keep standin' there," she said without looking up.

            "It's okay for me to come in, then?"

            "You work here."

            "Ah, the apathy. It's been quite a bit o' time since I made you that angry, eh?"

            "Mmm-hmm."

            "I s'pose I'll have to do something to make you care again." He eased into the room and shut the door, then he glided across the room and around her desk. His hand brushed the back of her neck lightly, dragging it across the soft alabaster skin beneath her hair.

            She shivered involuntarily, but forced her eyes down onto the page.

            Behind her, Draco smiled his serpent's smile and leaned down to press his lips against her ear.

            "I'd like to apologize, Miss Weasley, for my insensitive and unfortunate slip of the tongue earlier. Perhaps if you'd allow me to make it up to you?" 

His voice came out low and rough. She had never heard him use that tone outside of their bedroom, and in spite of herself she felt the sudden urge to throw him down on the desk and tear his robes off. Ginny had figured he would try something like this. Draco always went for seductive instead of apologetic. This time she was expecting it.

            She kicked back from the desk and spun the chair around, narrowly missing a painful head to head impact. Then she leaped out of the chair, grabbed two handfuls of robe, and yanked as hard as she could. Draco gave in and let himself fall onto the desk, where Ginny promptly ground herself against him and licked the sensitive spot below his right ear.

            "Drake?" 

            "Gin."

            "Are you enjoying this?" The lobe of his ear gently bobbed between her lips with each word.

            Draco wanted to moan. "Quite. Am I forgiven for being an ass?"

            "Is she gonna let you do it?"

            "Uh huh."

            She rose up to eye level. "Good." She nipped his throat again. "You should be glad I kept my own place, you know?"

            "Ginny, about that …"

            "Because now I don't have to kill you so I can be home alone."

            She rolled off the desk and picked up her cloak.

            "I'm glad you got your new assignment, Draco. It'll keep you busy for the four or five hours a day you're not figuring out how to apologize. Don't wait up."

            She threw on the cloak and left.

            Draco dropped down into her chair, inhaling Ginny's scent as it coalesced around him.

            "Well, that went bloody perfect, didn't it?"


	9. Swirling

            Hermione's chin hovered inches above Willow's shoulder. The blue glow from the screen reflected on them both.

            "I can't believe you made it work."

            "So very much not me, Hermione, and so very much the Albus Dumbledore blue-plate spell-shielding special. I don't know how he did it, but it worked. I don't even need the battery anymore."

            "Professor Dumbledore? That explains it. He knows more about the magic around Hogwarts than anyone." She watched Willow's fingers dance nimbly over the keys. "How'd you get so fast?"

            "Lots of practice. I was a big nerd when I was younger, y'know? It leaves a lot of time for things like C-plus-plus and other obscure computer stuff."

            "I rather missed the technology revolution myself," said Hermione as she returned to her seat. She snatched a book from the top of the pile and thumbed through the index. "By the time it sprang up, I was learning how to wave a wand."

            "Your parents didn't start you earlier than that?"

            "Actually, they couldn't. Underage Wizardry's quite illegal, you know. Besides, they're not wizards. Dentists, both of them."

            Willow glanced up. "Dentists?"

            "Dentists."

            "Wow. Funky."

            "They _were a little surprised."_

            "At least they didn't light you on fire."

            That brought Hermione's head up from the book. "Pardon?"

            "My parents weren't thrilled that I was, y'know, making with the mojo."

            "And they …"

            "Tried to burn me at the stake. My mom did, anyway."

            "You seem remarkably calm about that."

            "It was awhile ago, plus there was the whole influenced-by-the-evil-demon factor." She looked up from the screen. "It's kinda long to tell the whole thing. We worked it out."

            "If you say so." Hermione left a skeptical eye on Willow for a few more seconds, then dropped her head back to the book.

            Ten minutes later, the click-clack of Willow's typing stopped, replaced by the whir of her laptop working. Another half-minute, and that stopped too.

            Hermione never heard the whirring stop. Willow's excited voice drowned it out.

            "Oh-oh-oh I got it! I got it! Duh!"

            "You translated it?"

            Willow blinked. "Um, well … no. But the program works."

            "How can you be sure it's right?"

            She turned the laptop screen around. An image of the scanned scroll dominated the picture.

            "See this?" Willow pointed to a small section of characters near the top as excitement crept into her voice. "It's a Semitic script. First I thought Akkadian, because of the loopy slashes, y'know, but then I did some 'net surfing and I found out what it was."

            "It looked more like Hebrew to me."

            "Exactly!" Willow shouted, waving her arms frantically. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that was a little loud, but-but, seriously, Hermione, listen. It IS Hebrew, a really old dialect. See this passage below it? That's Akkadian. It says the same thing. Then there's this passage below, one of the ones they couldn't translate, and then there's another one in Hebrew."

            "Then another in Akkadian," Hermione said, leaning forward as she caught on.

            "Then another they couldn't translate, then an intro in Hebrew, and about eighty feet of stuff in the language we don't know."

            "It's got its own Rosetta stone."

            "It IS its own Rosetta stone."

            "How long to translate it, d'you think?"

            "No way to know. Could be hours, could be days. I'll let the script run starting … now." Willow finished typing a command and hit enter.

            "And now?"

            Willow frowned. "The big wait."

            "Perhaps if you had waited the requisite amount of time, Miss Summers, you would not be in your current predicament. Surely you are old enough to read a clock?"

            Snape's sneer trickled into his voice. Dawn felt the embarrassment pulse behind her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying mightily not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset.

            "I'm sorry, Professor," she squeezed out through clenched teeth. _The mission. Think about the mission._

            "Don't be sorry. Be correct in the first place. No sense trying to begin again this late, you've botched it too thoroughly for that. Clean up your things and be very careful washing your cauldron out. I don't fancy burn marks from that sludge on my classroom floor." He moved away to inspect the rest of the class.

            "You're lucky he doesn't take points from his own house, Summers," whispered Gina Moncrief from the next chair over. "You'd've lost ten for sure."

            Dawn nodded absently, straightening her things and tending to her still-smoking cauldron. Like the rest of the Slytherin seventh-years, Gina had been cautiously friendly towards Dawn. Their attitude surprised her. She hadn't thought the Slytherins would welcome her at all, at least not after what Harry and Ron had told her and what the first day had been like. After a little while, though, they seemed to lighten up. She figured it had to do with her being one of their own more than anything about her personally.

            "I knew I should've waited, but I just got so bored." The last phrase slipped out in a mock English accent, which Gina met with a questioning look. Dawn shrugged. "Sorry. Channeling an old friend. Not that I'm not loving Potions, but what've we got next?"

            "Nothing. It's Friday, remember? The weekend?" Gina flashed a smile and brushed her black hair off of her face. "I'll be glad to be done, that's for sure. We've got so much damn work. A'course, it's less than the last two years, but it's still a bunch."

            "What do you guys do for fun on the weekends here?"

            "Well…" Gina twirled a finger in her hair, as if pondering whether she should tell Dawn anything or not. She must have decided she should, because she continued, "a couple of us're heading for Hogsmeade tonight." She glanced around for Snape; seeing him preoccupied on the other end of the room, she went on, "I mean, we're not exactly s'posed to, if you get my drift, but we do anyway. D'you, that is, would you be up for it?"

            "What are you going there to do?"

            "Oh, you know, shopping, some firewhiskey at the Hog's Head, maybe meet some boys. It's gonna be loads o' fun. You should come." Gina leaned in and whispered, "People think you're different, you know? It might … it'll help you meet some people. Fit in a little. How 'bout it?"

            Dawn thought hard for a few seconds. If she got caught, she could always say she was trying to spot the troublemakers, and the week _had been stressful._

            "I'm in. Where and when?"

            Dawn was not impressed.

"Damn, Spike. I'm so glad you're not alive. You'd kill me for this." 

None of the three Slytherin girls heard her muttering, which was just as well. The Hog's Head was Willy's with a goat smell and no jukebox. If Buffy ever found out her assignment had brought her here, the assignment wouldn't last much longer.

            Most of the single room contained dark figures hunched over dark tables. None of them were shy about casting hungry eyes at Dawn and the girls with her. Neither were the four Slytherin boys who had pulled tables together in the far corner of the room. They were louder than the rest of the room by far, several rounds of drinks adding spring to their step and volume to their voices. When the girls walked in, they hooted and hollered and waved for them to come closer.

            "Ooh, there's Tim! Isn't he cute?" Gina whispered to Dawn, who scoped the boy in question and nodded. He had a Tom Welling look to him, with sandy blonde hair instead of black. "He's a great git most of the time," she added with a sigh, "but I just can't help myself."

            Abby Wayne and Samantha Drake, the other two girls with them, dashed across the floor and leapt into the waiting arms of their boyfriends, neither of whose names Dawn could remember. She also didn't know the name of the fourth guy, but he looked really familiar. He was tall and completely bald, with very dark skin and a gold hoop through his right eyebrow.

            "Who's the other one?"

            "That's Danny. He's actually a Ravenclaw, but he and Tim and Ryan," Gina motioned to a boy with long black hair in ponytail, who was greeting Sam with an intense lip lock, "they've been mates for years. He's American, so you should relate. Now, come on!"

            Gina led her over, bypassing for the moment the snog-fest of the two couples.

            "Hey, Tim," the dark-haired girl said shyly. She offered a coy smile. "You know Dawn, right?"

            "Uh huh. How are ya, luv?" 

            "Doing alright, thanks." She turned to Danny and held out her hand. "Dawn Summers."

            "Dan Gunn."

            Dawn did a double take.

            "Gunn? Two n's?"

            His eyebrow ring rose, and he spoke in his deep, bass voice. "Uh huh. Why?"

            "You have a cousin. In L.A. Does the monster-fighting thing for money, right?"

            "Yeah. Charles. Why?"

            "He works for a … guy named Angel. Angel used to … he knew my sister and me. I've met your cousin a few times, too."

            "Really? Cool." He turned to Tim, Ryan, and the others. "Angel's a serious player, like my cousin."

            "'Zat right?" Tim asked. "Your cousin's a solid bloke. You ladies want some drinks?"

            They nodded. Dawn looked uncertain, but with Gina's prodding she joined them in a firewhiskey, which Tim and Gina went to fetch.

            Dawn pulled up a chair next to Dan; everyone else sat down and promptly ignored them in favor of making out.

            "So …" Dawn said awkwardly, "you're American, huh?"

            The right side of his lip twitched upwards. If it had lasted longer, she would have called it a smile.

            "Yeah. You too?"

            "Oh, totally. I'm from California. What about you?"

            "Brooklyn."

            "Really? I've always wanted to go there, but I never have. Well, except for one time, but that was only for like six hours."

            "It's alright. Hogwarts is a lot nicer."

            "You're a seventh year, too?"

            "Yeah."

            "And Gina said you know these guys …" Dawn realized she was chattering away at ninety miles a minute and paused. "I'm sorry. I'm being _Jeopardy girl, and it's way rude."_

            This time he gave her a genuine smile.

            "It's cool. Ask away."

            "Okay, but jump in if you want to talk."

            "Don't worry 'bout him," Ryan said from down the table. "He's a tough bugger to shut up once he gets started. We're all better off this way."

            Dan narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me put you down again, dude. Seriously."

            "See what I mean, Dawn?"

            They laughed, and Tim and Gina returned, setting drinks down in front of them. Dan's was tall and layered; the top half was a deep red and the bottom was clear and carbonated.

            "What's that?" Dawn asked, peering at the drink and leaning out of the way so Gina and Tim could snuggle up together on the bench.

            "Cherry syrup and soda."

            "That sounds a lot less intimidating and manly than a firewhiskey."

            "I don't need a drink to make me intimidating or manly," he said. His voice sounded serious, but his eyes had a sardonic cast.

            "No, I guess you really don't, huh?"

            "Try some. It's superb."

            She leaned over and took a sip, watching Dan watch her as she did.

            "Oh! That's so good." She looked at her own drink, then looked at him skeptically. "Want some of mine?"

            "Uh uh. I'm DD'ing tonight, and besides, I don't drink firewhiskey. I'm a Dragon's Tear man."

            "DD'ing? We don't have a car."

            He shrugged. "Yeah, but if we get caught coming back through the passageway, you'll wish we did. DD'ing here means I keep us from getting caught. Tim was on last time, and …"

            "An' you nearly got us all busted, you jackass! Jumpin' up an' down, singing _My Gallant Crew at the top o' your bloody lungs with Filch and Mrs. Norris twenty yards away."_

            Dawn could tell that if he had lighter skin, Dan would have been blushing.

            "Wasn't that loud," he said sheepishly. "Anyway, it's my turn this time."

            She laughed along with everyone else, then took a sip of her firewhiskey. _Not bad, she thought, downing the rest of the glass. _Not bad at all_._

            Two hours later, she wasn't laughing, and Dan was wrestling another firewhiskey from her hand.

            "Dawn, you've had enough, girl. Honest."

            "Jus' one more," she slurred. Her eyes were reddened and half shut. The other Slytherins were in no better shape, but they had all finished their last round. The bartender, his gray hair lank and a look of concern rising above his beard, was watching the scene skeptically. "Y'know, you're really cute. Cute as your coushin, an' thass sayin' something."

            "Thanks, but flattery won't work." He took the glass and set it down. "No more. We've got to get back."

            "Surely yeh can stay a bit longer," a scratchy voice rasped, "an' maybe share yer young ladies wit' the rest of us."

            Dan looked up. Four hooded figures, their dark cloaks drawn tight at the necks, had encircled their group. Gnarled hands poked from the sleeves of their robes; none of them had wands, but he could feel the menace emanating from them. Their circle screened them off from the rest of the room, and he couldn't see the elderly bartender making a short wand movement and whispering an incantation.

            "Huh?" Dawn looked up and, seeing the four men, she spoke in a voice several octaves lower than her own. "Do you mind if we dance with your dates?" Then she started giggling uncontrollably and collapsed onto Dan's lap.

            The other Slytherins had taken notice and were trying to sit up straighter. Unfortunately, they were so intoxicated that Dan knew they wouldn't be able to pronounce any spells, let alone swish and flick properly.

            "Look, guys," he said, drawing his wand surreptitiously behind Dawn's body, "I really don't think you want to do that."

            "Oh no? Why's that, boy?"

            Even in her drunken stupor, Dawn could see the anger flare in Dan's eyes. He carefully lifted her onto the seat next to him, then got right in the leader's face.

            "Who're you calling boy, bitch?" He grabbed the man's cloak and shoved him clear across the room, shattering an unsuspecting table that happened to be in the way. The man collapsed in a heap.

            The other three slipped hands under their robes to draw wands; the Slytherins, drunk but not totally gone, leapt at their attackers. All six of them went down to the floor in a punching, kicking, biting mass. Dan jumped in for good measure, but the rest of the bar had seen enough and the other patrons hurried for the door, some without paying. That got the bartender yelling, and the mad rush turned the scene into total chaos. 

Dawn saw the fracas erupt and, figuring in her drink-addled mind that they were her responsibility, jumped in as well, swinging blindly at the pile. She connected with a cheekbone hard, then took a backhanded punch from someone in the heap. She went sprawling, landing hard on the floor and folding up into a dazed ball.

            The sounds of the fight filled the small room, along with the bartender's frantic cries for them to stop. Dan yanked one of the cloaked men to his feet, slammed a right hook into his jaw, and let him drop back down again. He spun around, looking for the one he had thrown.

            The creep was on his feet, hood off and wand out now, a scary scowl on his pockmarked face. He caught sight of Dawn on the floor and his dark eyes flashed. The wand came up …

            "STUPEFY!" Dan roared, his own wand leveled at the man instantly. The creep whirled around, blocking the stunner but distracted from Dawn for the moment.

            The man grinned, revealing crooked and missing teeth. Then he pointed his wand at Dan.

            "SCINDO!"

            A jet of silver light flew straight for Dan's chest; before he could move to dodge, an unseen force ripped him from the ground and tossed him out of its path. In his peripheral vision, he saw the creep turn and his eyes go wide.

            Then he heard a loud bang, and everyone stopped.

            "That, I think, will be quite enough of that," Albus Dumbledore said from the door.

*********************************

N.B.: _My Gallant Crew_ is a song from Gilbert and Sullivan's opera _H.M.S. Pinafore_.


	10. Trouble

            "'Bout time you got here," the bartender grumbled.

            "Yes, well, perhaps if we had been alerted that some of our students were patronizing your fine establishment, we might have come sooner," Dumbledore said reasonably. There seemed to be no condescension in his voice, but the bartender scowled anyway. He stepped into the room, followed closely by Snape on one side and Hagrid and Fang on the other. Hagrid carried an enormous crossbow and, seeing Dawn on the floor, took on a look of rage.

            The four men in cloaks got to their feet, all their hoods off now. The absence of cover revealed four men who couldn't have looked more like scoundrels. They had nearly indistinguishable sets of scars, hook noses, and rotting teeth. They also shared identical looks of fright.

            "You four will leave. Now," Snape snarled.

            They wasted no time wrapping themselves in their coats and bustling off into the night.

            "And stay out," Dan muttered.

            "Hey! They didn't pay their tabs!" The bartender looked incensed.

            "We will cover the bill, plus the damages, of course," Dumbledore said calmly. "As for you, Mr. Gunn, I would suggest you not make more trouble for yourself than you already have."

            "Sorry, Professor." Dan looked torn between standing in Dumbledore's presence, and tending to a semi-conscious Dawn on the floor. The other Slytherin pairs leaned heavily on each other for balance, forming a ragged line in front of their table. Dan chose conscience over propriety and knelt down next to Dawn. He gingerly touched her shoulder; she didn't respond except to snore softly.

            Snape glanced briefly at her, then at Dan, and finally at the other students of his house. He didn't make a sound, but the muscle in his jaw ticked rapidly.

            "Severus? Perhaps you could …"

            "I will return them to the castle, Headmaster, and hand out appropriate punishments."

            "Very well," Dumbledore said with a nod. He turned and glided out with Hagrid in tow, leaving seven drunk Slytherins and Dan Gunn alone with the Potions Master. The rest of the bar had long since emptied.

            Snape continued to shiver with silent rage for half a minute. When he spoke, the tone was pure ice.

            "Mister Gunn, you are sober, is that correct?" His black eyes burned into Dan as he said it.

            "Yes, sir."

            "Then when your friends are once again sober as well, you can tell them that they have lost twenty points apiece for Slytherin, and will have detention with Mister Filch for two weeks." Snape inhaled deeply. "Also, tell them that should they attempt to avail themselves of Madame Pomfrey's hangover cure, they will be quite unsuccessful." He looked Dan over carefully. "You were protecting Miss Summers instead of the rest of them?"

            "Yes, sir."

            "Why is that?"

            "I accidentally punched her in the jaw, Professor. She was unconscious, and one of those bast … guys was moving in on her."

            "I see." Snape appeared to consider that for a moment. "And who threw the first punch of this melee?"

            Dan said nothing.

            "Do not seek to try my patience. I have none to start with, and a drunken brawl by the senior members of my house …" He didn't finish the sentence, but Dan was sure he could see fire spewing from Snape's flaring nostrils. "Who attacked whom?"

            "Sir, he was …"

            "Who?"

            "I did, sir. But …"

            Snape cut off his explanation with a raised palm.

            "I see." He was quiet for several seconds. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw for being out of bounds. Fifty points for starting a bar fight and another twenty for not knowing the difference between your side and the other. And you, along with Miss Summers, will serve your detentions with me, beginning on Monday."

            "Sir, I can understand me, but Dawn …" He didn't question the points. Doing that would cost him more.

            "Are you suggesting detention with me is worse than with Filch, Daniel?"

            Dan was smart enough not to answer that question.

            The first thing she noticed was the orchestra playing full bore inside her skull.

            Then she felt the pain.

Oh, the pain. 

Dawn couldn't remember her head hurting so much.

            "Uhhh…"

            "Shhh. Don't talk, Dawnie. It'll just make it worse."

            "Uhhh…" She gingerly lifted her arms and pressed her palms to the side of her head. Now the orchestra was playing the _1812 Overture_ inside it, and they had the real cannons. She was so not loving it. She cracked an eye open and felt the world spin, forcing her to jam it shut again. Her stomach lurched and she gagged, but she had nothing left to throw up.

            Somebody rested a cool towel on her head. She would have kissed them if she could have sat up or opened her eyes.

            Willow had to work hard not to chuckle. Dawn's skin had faded to a sickly green, and she knew the girl was not in for a pleasant Saturday. It was one of the reasons she restricted herself to one glass of wine a night. The others had more to do with black magic and Angry Drunk Willow than anything else.

            "She'll be fine, dear," Madame Pomfrey said, puttering about behind Willow. "A little too much to drink isn't fatal. I could give her something to help it, but Professor Snape instructed me not to."

            Willow spun around, eyes wide and mouth agape.

            "He what?"

            "He said they would have to suffer the consequences of their indulgences. Part of their punishment, it seems."

            Fuming, Willow ordered Madame Pomfrey to give Dawn the hangover remedy right away.

            "But Professor Snape …"

            "Me and the Potions Master are gonna have a little chat. Before that, though, she gets the healing stuff. If the others come by, give it to them, too, and if he gets all uppity with you, send him to me, okay?"

            "Oh, I can handle Severus, young lady. I just can't violate an order from a Professor about student punishment." Pomfrey smiled conspiratorially and shrugged. "Of course, the Headmaster says that if another Professor contradicts him …"

            "Thanks, Poppy."

            "You're welcome, my dear."

            She reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a tube of pink liquid, which she poured into a glass and handed to Willow.

            "Here, Dawnie. Drink this." She tipped the glass into Dawn's mouth. The younger girl drank it down and promptly fell asleep.

            "She'll sleep for a few hours now, but when she wakes up she'll be right as rain."

            Willow watched Dawn sleep for a few minutes, then she got up and left. She had to see a man about a girl.

            Sirius' eyebrows drew together in a frown. Harry and Ron leaned forward in their chairs in front of the staff fire, watching his disembodied head float in the flames while they waited for an answer.

            "I don't know, Harry. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing I really want to give the Headmaster. I mean, sure, Dumbledore's okay, but what about the next guy? What if it was someone like that woman in your fifth year?"

            Ron nodded. "S'a good point, mate."

            "Yeah, but … the other thing?" 

Ron shrugged.

            "Other thing?" Sirius asked.

            "Well, it's … um …" Harry paused, knowing that the fireplace wasn't secure enough for this. "D'you have any floo powder? This is something that's better to talk about in person."

            "Sensitive?"

            Harry nodded.

            "Alright. I'll come through. Step back a bit."

            Ron rose and pulled his chair away from the fire awkwardly; Harry rolled back a few feet. The head vanished, and a moment later the fire turned green. A moment after that, Sirius arrived with a thunk; his hand shot out to steady himself on the stonework.

            "Thanks," Harry said. He wheeled up and shook Sirius' hand, and the shake quickly became a contorted hug. They hadn't seen each other since Harry had moved his rehab to Hogwarts. Ron shook his hand as well, and then he and Sirius took seats near Harry.

            "Something's afoot at Hogwarts, then?" Sirius asked.

            Harry nodded. "Bad. Dumbledore brought in a really powerful witch to teach Dark Arts this year, and …" Harry explained about Willow, and about Dawn's undercover mission. By the end, Sirius couldn't restrain his concern.

            "Prophecies and the Watcher's Council. Sounds bad. I see why he wants a map."

            "We sorta need it," Ron admitted. "I guess we could always steal it back when Dumbledore retires."

            "That would be something," Sirius said with a grin. "We'll make Marauders out of you two yet."

            "We did our share of sneaking around," Harry replied indignantly.

            "Yeah, but you were trying to help people, not make things interesting. We had different priorities."

            "Things were interesting enough without us making trouble."

            Sirius had to concede that point. He leaned back in the chair and ran a hand over his short beard. "So Dumbledore wants a Marauder's Map for himself, huh?"

            "That's the what of it," Ron said. "An' we told you the why. Can you show us how to make one?"

            "Did you talk to Remus?"

            "Uh huh. He told Harry to talk with you, since he thought you'd object more than he would."

            Sirius pondered that, then narrowed his eyes. "If you two swear you'll steal it back when Dumbledore retires, I think I could get on board." Then he grinned again, and his weathered face lost ten years. "A'course, making one won't be easy. In fact, Remus and I don't know all of it."

            "You don't?"

            "No. James knew the whole thing. We had a quarter of it each, so you two would have to figure out his part and Wormtail's part."

            "Is that even possible?" Harry asked.

            "You're as clever as your father, Harry, and Ron and Hermione are a damn sight more clever than Wormtail on their worst day and his best. Besides, mine was the hard part." His dark eyes twinkled with mirth. "I'm the one who beat the Unplottable spell."

            "Really? How?"

            "It's complicated, but I think I can teach you. Then we can get Remus in here to show you how to put a password on it."

            "Hermione can do that already," Ron said.

            "And make it look like blank parchment?"

            "Well … I dunno," he said tentatively. "Maybe."

            "We'll figure it out," Harry said. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

            Sirius turned his intense gaze on his godson and nodded. 

"You know, if your father was here, and if he was seventeen or so, he would really frown on you two corrupting the Marauders like this. Helping people. Ridiculous. This isn't what our talents were meant for."

            The door to the Potions classroom slammed inward, rattling the racks of glassware and kicking up dust from the stonework. Willow stepped through, eyes burning but still green, her gaze trained on Snape. He was seated at his desk with flasks of student potions for grading, and didn't bother to look up.

            "Professor Rosenberg. How nice to see you."

            Willow reached out with her mind and slammed the door closed. Then she put a silencing charm on the room.

            "You … you huge jerk-person! What the frilly heck is wrong with you? Not giving the kids medicine?"

            "They decided to hold an impromptu party, young lady," he responded, glancing up with an unruffled expression. "They must accept the consequences of their actions."

            "Even if it makes them so sick they can't move?"

            "Miss Summers is still under the weather, then?"

            "Dawn's a separate case. We'll get there in a minute, buster. What I want to know is how you can be so cruel to members of your own house?"

            "Cruel? Whatever do you mean? I didn't force them to imbibe copious amounts of firewhiskey. Would you care to see their bar bill? They had quite a lot, and if I had not shown up, they would have the same health concerns as they do right now. I see no problem."

            Willow's voice rose, and she started waving her hands for angry emphasis. "Except, duh, they could have gone to Madame Pomfrey for help. Then it wouldn't have mattered. Also, they wouldn't have detentions, which, okay, those I can understand, and the points, too, but-but-but, to make them sicker, and then order the nurse not to give them the wizard version of Tylenol?" She stopped and took a deep breath. "Don't do it again."

            He sneered at her. "Or what?"

            "Or I'll reverse the order, again, and do something to you that … well, it'll be something seriously bad that I just can't think of right now. Got it?"

            "Are you threatening me, little girl? And you dare reverse one of my instructions? Those students are …" He paused. She was pointing two fingers at him. "What are you doing?"

            "Deciding if you'll look better with your feet or your head embedded in the ceiling."

            He reached down for his wand; the instant it cleared his robe, it shot from his hand and flew across the room.

            "Sorry, buddy. No pointing of the wand just now."

            "How did … you do not wish to harm me. It would be a bad mistake."

            She smiled. Then she stuck out her tongue at him.

            Snape's eyes went wide.

            "I think we both know you can't do squat against me, so I'll be nice and ignore that you made with the threats and the angry glares." She reached out mentally and pulled the wand back across the room, letting it hover in front of him.

            Snape snatched it from the air and thrust it back into his robes. He was clearly steaming, but she knew he knew she was right. He couldn't do anything to her.

            Willow could see him fuming, but she took his silence for acquiescence. "Now, about Dawn."

 "She is a student in my house, and subject to the same rules as the others. It would blow her cover to do otherwise." His tone of strained civility made Willow want to chuckle. She imagined that people rarely took this guy down any pegs, let alone the several she just had.

            "Agreed. But why the separate detention? Why not let her schmooze with the others and, y'know, find stuff out?"

            "She will have plenty of time for … schmoozing, as you say … with the Slytherins. I have other reasons for moving her detention."

            "And they are?"

            His jaw twitched angrily.

            "Don't make me cranky, Sev."

            He visibly bridled at her use of the diminutive, but he didn't comment. "Last night, one of the students was quick to defend her. He is not of my house, and she will not have much opportunity to see him, given her schedule. I believe she could use an ally elsewhere, and two weeks of my detentions together will help that along."

            They waited in silence while Willow thought about that.

            "This guy, he's a solid citizen?"

            Snape gave a single, sharp nod. She grinned. Maybe there was more to this Snape guy than the hook nose and personality deficit after all.

            "That's a good plan, Sev. I like it. Which is of the good, because you really don't want to see me cranky."

            She turned and left, and Snape exhaled the breath he had been holding.

            "No, I truly don't believe that I do," he mumbled to the empty room.


End file.
